


Eyes of Rime

by BynSpyn



Series: For Elise [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 155,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25827271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BynSpyn/pseuds/BynSpyn
Summary: Dipper and Mabel return to Gravity Falls for their Christmas break, meeting up with an overjoyed Pacifica. When a freak storm traps them in the valley with a mysterious beast, however, they find their relationship strained to the breaking point. Unable to leave, they struggle to balance their responsibilities to the parties of the Northwests with the monster hunting and research of the Pines, and the emotions and needs of each other.
Relationships: Pacifica Northwest/Dipper Pines
Series: For Elise [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873972
Comments: 112
Kudos: 122





	1. Introduction

Hello everyone, and welcome back! I’ve got more to say in the introduction this time, but I’ll cover the important things first.

I _strongly_ recommend that you read Emerald in the Sky prior to this story. This is a sequel, and builds on the narrative contained within the first story.

Despite being a sequel, however, this is also _not_ going to be the same as Emerald. Emerald was a concise package, written from the heart in six emotional days. Eyes of Rime is a work of the mind, not the heart—it has been more carefully plotted out, and the threads within it are more complex than those within Emerald.

It is over twice as long as the first story, and as such there is more buildup, which can make things seem slower—after the first two chapters, however, things pick up quickly. Whether this change of pace is beneficial I will leave to the reader to judge.

Next, I plan on being more active in the comments on this story. I read all of the ones on Emerald, several times over—thank you all for the extremely positive feedback! This time, I’ll answer. I promise.

One more thing of note—the core part of the story in Emerald was built around the trio of Mabel, Pacifica, and Dipper. This time, there is an expanded cast of the characters you all know and love (and one new one!). The downside of this is that it makes the trio dynamic more difficult to capture. The focus will be more precisely placed upon Dipper and Pacifica—Mabel is there, by all means, but often spends more of her time with the other residents of the Mystery Shack. There are reasons for this in the story—it’s not an arbitrary decision!

Finally, I would like to take a moment to talk about the essential structure of Gravity Falls—the integration of mystical weirdness with character driven stories in every single episode. That’s what makes it so magical.

I have attempted to recapture that structure here. Unfortunately, that means that there will be character conflict. As much fun as it is to see Dipper, Mabel, and Pacifica happy, it is important to let them grow in their relationships in a way that is organic, and will ultimately make them stronger. There must be tension before release. That conflict may be harsh and unpleasant—but it is crucial to both the core of the characters, this story, and Gravity Falls as a whole.

So, without further ado, allow me to begin with the first chapter of Eyes of Rime! I hope that you all enjoy it, and I look forward to reading your comments and feedback!


	2. School

Dipper’s pen scratched across the sheet in front of him as he hunched over his desk, adding clean and concise rows of text to the page. His handwriting, normally rough and free flowing, was confined to tight and symmetrical rows. There were no illustrations, and no details about weirdness or other, far more interesting, things.

Instead, he was arguing that the impact of the Great San Francisco Earthquake of 1906 had been far more widespread than the simple devastation. Rather, it had triggered a seismic shift in Californian politics and law. His hand was cramping as he finished off the last few sentences, pausing briefly to crack his knuckles and shake some more feeling back into his tired muscles. He added the last period just as the shrill ringing of the school bell echoed through the room, causing everyone to audibly sigh and shift in their seats. The volume of the bell was only amplified by the lack of windows and solid concrete block walls, covered with only a perfunctory layer of beige paint.

Some students groaned, and some set their pencils down on their desks with a self-satisfied smirk, confident in the quality of their work. Mr. Bronson, the young bearded teacher, stood up and began walking along the symmetrical rows of desks, collecting the exam papers. He smiled fondly at Dipper as he added his exam to the pile—he knew that Dipper was a gifted student, and that US History was not his favorite subject in the world. As such, he was more accommodating to Dipper when the young adventurer’s mind wandered and he started to fill his paper with doodles of gnomes and manotaurs.

Dipper smiled back—he didn’t have the heart to tell the teacher that his beard did nothing to make him look older and more distinguished, but was instead a patchy, scraggly mess of wiry fibers. Dipper benefitted from Mr. Bronson’s kindness and inexperience, and wasn’t about to jeopardize that. Once the teacher had passed, Dipper discretely slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, checking the time.

On his lock screen was a picture of him and Pacifica, taken on Dipper’s one trip back up to Gravity Falls over the course of the fall semester.

Or, rather, it was a picture of Pacifica and half of his face. They had climbed up to the top of the water tower, which Pacifica had claimed would make the perfect background for a profile picture. Dipper had tried to angle his arm to get both of them in frame, but couldn’t manage it without falling off. There had, somehow, been one picture with both of their faces in it—however, Pacifica had immediately deleted it once she realized she had been mid-sneeze at the time.

Dipper, technologically minded as he was, had pulled the photo out of the deleted files and added it to a private folder. He would never tell Pacifica he had it, but he still pulled it out and looked at it occasionally, whenever he needed to remind himself that Pacifica was a real person. Even in their private text conversations, she rarely sent any photos that weren’t perfectly filtered and cropped. Her Instagram, naturally, was immaculate.

Dipper locked his phone with a click and slipped it back into his pocket as the intercom crackled to life and the principal’s voice came over—it was sharp and raspy, filled with years of experience and seniority. Dipper had never had to speak with her, and hoped that he would never have to.

“Good afternoon, Piedmont High,” she began, before breaking down into a coughing fit directly into the microphone. Dipper knew that germs couldn’t travel through the intercom, but he still felt the need to wash his hands. “I would like to congratulate you on the successful completion of the fall semester. I hope that you’re all able to enjoy your winter break, while reminding you that we’ll be resuming class on January 9th. Everyone is dismissed, except for Mabel Pines. Please come to my office.”

Dipper gently lowered his head to the table, gently beating himself against the hard plastic. He knew that Mabel would never do anything intentionally bad, but she could get carried away sometimes—the legends of what she had done on the trip to the petting zoo still circulated in the hallways. He wasn’t worried, but knew that he would have to go the office and wait for her there—he was her ride, after all, and it was far too hot to sit in the parking lot.

He stayed frozen in his desk as everyone else in the classroom whirred into motion, packing up their bookbags and stretching after the final exam of the semester. Mr. Bronson loudly announced through his unimpressive beard that he would have the exams graded and posted online by the end of next week. As the students filed out of the room, Dipper finally propped himself up on his elbows and lurched out of his desk.

None of the students had said goodbye to him, but he wasn’t particularly bothered. All of his friends shared the science and engineering classes with him—since engineering was an elective, it meant that everyone who was there wanted to be there, and were able to bond over their common interests. Dipper wasn’t popular, but he had enough friends to tide over the gaps between his times in Gravity Falls. He had noticed that, since starting to date Pacifica, he had become more open with the other students, and was more talkative.

He supposed that having a beautiful blonde on your arm would boost any man’s confidence. Even though Pacifica’s mind and personality were far more interesting to him, Dipper couldn’t deny the impact that appearances could have. He knew that Pacifica would agree with him—she made herself look good for a reason.

Dipper lifted his bag onto his desk and grabbed the pens that remained scattered about, sliding them into the pouch. As he did so, he instinctively felt down the back of the bag, attempting to trace the outline of his journal. Even after giving it to Pacifica, he still found himself trying to keep track of it. He had once bought an empty journal to simulate the sensation of still having it, but it hadn’t felt the same.

He lifted the bag easily, and slung it over his shoulder as he headed for the door, waving back at the teacher as he did so. The teacher, busy trying to stuff all of the fat exam booklets into his own bag, didn’t notice. Dipper would have been disappointed at that, but was too worried about having to deal with Mabel to be concerned.

Dipper exited the classroom and turned to the right, emerging into the convoluted hallways of Piedmont High School. The hallway walls were also made with cinder blocks, and covered with a thin layer of plaster and white paint. Once upon a time, there had been complex and colorful murals on the walls, done by local artists, but they had long since been painted over. Dipper ran his hand along the wall as he proceeded to the office—it was tradition that students touch the walls as often as possible, in the hopes that the white paint would one day be worn away enough to expose the murals beneath. And, in a few high traffic areas, the thicker lines and more vibrant hues could indeed already be seen.

What made the high school complex was that it wasn’t laid out in rectangles like most buildings—instead, like a beehive, the building was arranged into hexagons. A set of six classrooms, each of them shaped like a trapezoid, surrounded a central break room that the teachers could duck into whenever they needed to catch their breath, or dose up on caffeine. The hallways snaked around these pods, creating a maze of three-way intersections that only the experienced could navigate. The main office was located in the center of these pods, and that was where Dipper was headed to now.

He was glad that he spent the vast majority of his time in the engineering annex. The annex had been added after the original building, and was actually laid out in straight lines. The rooms were full of manufacturing equipment, and had gray concrete floors marked out with yellow paint. Metal struts supported the ceiling, twenty feet up—a tin roof sheltered the rooms from the rain, and drummed so loudly during thunderstorms that it became impossible to hear each other talk—Dipper enjoyed those days the most, the sound allowing him to truly focus on his work apart from other people and his own worries.

The office came into view as he turned a corner. Instead of concrete like most of the walls, the office had large panels of glass in between support columns. Hypothetically, this allowed the administrative staff to keep an eye on the students as they wandered in between their classes, but most of the time the blinds were closed—the glass worked both ways, after all, and most students would just stare as they walked by and make the office workers uncomfortable.

The only thing distinguishing the door from the other glass panels was the curved handle that allowed one to open it. Dipper gently swung the door open and stepped inside, turning to sit in the waiting area where Mabel’s backpack had already been deposited. The waiting chairs had once been nice, but repeated use had cracked the plastic and exposed the synthetic stuffing beneath, only held back by a thin matrix of fabric. Mabel’s backpack was on the nicest of the chairs—Dipper, not wanting to move it for fear of disturbing the contents, sat next to it.

Dipper smiled at the lady manning the front desk as he did so—he had dealt with her before, having come to the office numerous times to speak with his guidance counselor about possible college and technical school options after graduation. Such conversations were unusual for a junior, but Dipper was very proactive about getting things properly sorted out.

The receptionist was blonde, with blue eyes—much like Pacifica. She constantly wore a pearl necklace and earrings with expensive gemstones in them. She was far too old for Dipper, of course, but he would almost have found her attractive, were it not for the persistent rumors of her hooking up with one of the athletic coaches. Any potential feelings Dipper had for her were quashed by that, and booted to the curb by his relationship with Pacifica.

Dipper considered pulling out a book to read while he waited. He had been perusing a yard sale of one of his neighbors, when they were moving away, and had stumbled upon a large collection of Jules Verne novels. He was enjoying them immensely, traveling on wild and magnificent adventures, with his favorite so far being _Journey to the Center of the Earth_. It was for that reason that he chose to leave the book in his bag. He preferred to read when he could dedicate specific time to it, and really get sucked into the world of the book—waiting for Mabel wouldn’t afford him enough time.

Instead, he took the time to observe Mabel’s bag. At the beginning of the year, she had attempted to use a bag that she had knit herself—sadly, the continual pressure of putting books into it had strained the yarn and caused it to become unraveled. Her attempt to repair the bag using steel cable had ended poorly, when she discovered that she couldn’t weave it together tightly enough—and that the addition of the metal made the bag itself unbearably heavy.

So, she switched to a traditional canvas bookbag. It had once been pink, but was covered in paint splatters and residues of substances both known and unknown. The inside smelled faintly of spaghetti sauce, and the ocean. The spaghetti smell was simply the result of her lunch box exploding when she threw her bag at Dipper to get his attention during their lunch period.

The odor of the ocean was more complex. She and Dipper had gone with their parents to an isolated beach north of San Francisco, and stumbled upon a nest of turtle eggs that was in the middle of hatching.

Mabel had attempted to chase away the seagulls that were swooping at the babies, but she couldn’t be everywhere at once. So, instead, she had filled her backpack with the newly hatched turtles and carried them to the ocean herself. They were a little disoriented when she placed them into the water, but most of them soon figured out where they were and safely vanished into the sea.

Now, however, the bag only contained books and sketchpads, held in the pouch by a zipper with a grip on it in the shape of a duckling. Still, Dipper didn’t want to mess with it, just in case Mabel had finished a painting today in her art class and was bringing it home.

“Of course, they’ll want to see what other styles you can work in,” rasped the principal’s voice as she and Mabel rounded a corner, causing Dipper to snap to attention. “Your achievements with felt and wax are impressive, but these fancy types do like their paintings and sketches.”

“I could make a sculpture that you hang on the wall,” said Mabel, barely able to pronounce the words through her smile, which stretched from ear to ear. “The structure of it would be confusing, since I’d have to figure out a way to support it, but I can do it. I’m just going to need lots of hot glue and chicken wire.”

“You don’t have the scholarship yet,” cautioned the principal with a grin—Dipper had never seen her smile before. “I would get started with some sketches. They’re much cheaper than farm supplies.”

“I don’t think hot glue counts as farm supplies,” replied Mabel, shaking her head.

“Don’t sass me,” answered the principal, much sterner this time. “You know what I meant.” Mabel’s expression grew serious, forcing her mouth into a thin line and squinting her eyes, nodding as the principal turned around and returned to the bowels of her office. However, her expression sprang back into its normal exuberance, even more ecstatic now, as she turned and saw Dipper sitting at alert in the lobby.

“Dipper!” Mabel shouted as she bounded over to the seating area, the blonde receptionist following her with her eyes and a bemused smirk. “Guess what!?”

“They finally caught you smuggling coffee into class?” asked Dipper slyly, grunting slightly as he stood up and shouldered his bookbag. “I told you that you were playing with fire.”

“Shhh!” cautioned Mabel, looking around to make sure that no one had overheard them. The receptionist showed no indication that she was paying attention whatsoever. “I can’t afford to lose my bean juice. It’s the only thing that gets me through that boring US History class.”

“You mean the dreamy professor with his rugged and masculine beard isn’t enough to keep you up?” joked Dipper as Mabel picked her backpack up by the top handle and threw it into the air, letting it fall down back onto her shoulder gracefully. Dipper supposed that meant that there was no fragile art in it after all.

“You know his beard is gross,” said Mabel, pushing the door open and holding it for Dipper as he walked through. Together, they began to walk out to the parking lot, navigating through the honeycomb halls, each of them touching the walls. While Mabel rubbed furiously, Dipper merely let his hand drag along at waist height. “It’s nothing like Hudson’s was.” Mabel’s face fell as she mentioned the name of the waiter that she, Dipper, and Pacifica had run into during their trip to Seattle three months ago.

She had left her number with him, and he had called her back about three days later. However, despite frequent texting, things had never really progressed beyond that first phone call. Piedmont was much too far for Hudson to drive, especially for a girl that he had known for all of thirty minutes. Mabel would have driven up to see him in a heartbeat, but she didn’t have her own car. She had her license, but no wheels.

The final blow to the burgeoning relationship had come about a month ago, when Hudson announced that he would be shaving his beard. Apparently, one of the hairs had found its way into a bowl of slumgullion, and his boss gave him the option of shaving or losing his job. Since job offers were limited in Yachats, he had shaved.

Unfortunately for Hudson, he had no chin to speak of. His jaw jutted out over a pencil-thin neck like a baby bird, making him look simultaneously like an infant and an alien. And as much as Mabel liked him, she wasn’t attached enough to his personality to overcome that dramatic change. Oddly enough, despite Mabel's recent texts, Hudson hadn't responded. Whatever they might have had, it appeared to be over.

Since news of the shave first reached Mabel, she had gotten bummed out whenever anyone mentioned beards or man-buns. That was difficult, however, given that the Pines lived in Piedmont, and could see the shimmering lights of San Francisco across the bay if they climbed onto their roof. There were very many people with both beards and man-buns. Still, Dipper did what he could to minimize her heartbreak and help her out of any funk that she fell into.

“Mr. Bronson’s beard is very gross,” followed up Dipper, filling the silence. “It looks like someone glued a steel brush to his face.”

“You shouldn’t gossip about your best friend behind his back like that,” chided Mabel with a sniffle, mocking the easy friendship Dipper had with the teacher.

“Well, we may have to reevaluate his ‘best friend’ status after my grade on this exam comes in,” said Dipper, squinting as he and Mabel approached the glass doors that led to the outside. Dipper took the lead this time, pushing through the door and keeping it propped open with his foot as Mabel passed through.

Immediately, Mabel sneezed as the scalding sun cascaded down onto them, finally warming them up after a full day in the icy halls of the high school. It was December, and school was letting out for winter break—and yet, there was absolutely no sign of a chill in the air. The days started out calm and cool, but the blazing sun striking the concrete and asphalt soon turned Oakland into an oven. It was one of the hottest winters in recent memory, and there was no sign of it getting cooler.

Dipper had, quite frankly, had enough of it. He was wearing his green fleece jacket, since it was so cold inside the building, but he immediately removed it and slung it over his shoulder as the light hit his face. As he did so, he checked to make sure that the Weslee III was still secure in the interior pocket. The clunky, silver device hadn’t rung in quite some time, other than the twins’ weekly phone call with the Stans out on the ocean. Still, he had it set on silent—a siren going off in the middle of a classroom would be difficult to explain, and harder to live down.

“Oh yeah, you had that test today,” said Mabel, sneezing once more before getting her nose under control. “Did you include your theory about why the earthquake led to all those fires afterwards?”

“No,” said Dipper, sighing and rolling his eyes. “I wanted to, but I don’t think that it would have gone over too well. Mr. Bronson may like me, but he’s not that generous.”

“But you worked so hard on it!” Mabel chirped, a disappointed look on her face. “All you’re saying is that the earthquake opened up a hole in the ground that a three-eyed fire demon came out of, and that the demon set the city ablaze until the fire department put him out. It’s not that ridiculous.”

“Not to you and me, maybe,” said Dipper, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his keys as the twins approached his truck. “But someone as factually minded as Mr. Bronson wouldn’t be able to take it seriously. And I’d just as soon get a guaranteed good grade.”

Francine looked as good as she ever had—a one and a half cab truck, small and painted green, but with a toolbox on the back full of weirdness equipment and other useful tools. The box hadn’t been opened since the trip to Seattle, where the trio had closed a series of rifts and finally sealed away the immediate influence of Weirdmageddon. Dipper had been meaning to restock the toolbox with containers of alien adhesive, medical supplies, and explosive knives, but all of those supplies were kept under lock and key in Gravity Falls. He would need Ford to give him access to the main lab.

“I guess you can save your theory for another time,” said Mabel as Dipper unlocked the truck and she climbed into the shotgun seat. “Besides, the only reason there was a question about earthquakes on that exam anyway was because of the one we had a week ago. It just freaked everybody out.”

The earthquake had been powerful, scoring at a 7.6 on the Richter scale. It shook through Piedmont right when classes were beginning, and everybody had panicked as they attempted to find shelter. Fortunately, there had been no reports of significant damage, since the epicenter of the quake had been significantly further north, off of the Oregon coast. Dipper had texted to make sure Pacifica was safe, and she had reported that there were no injuries in Gravity Falls either—even though the shaking was much stronger.

“Still,” said Dipper, “it wasn’t a bad exam question. It’s good to know the history of where you live, just so you can be prepared if things ever go off the rails again.”

“It was probably a good idea to keep your secret theory under wraps anyway,” replied Mabel. “You can present it later when you’re more qualified and people will actually take you seriously.”

“People take me seriously now,” fired back Dipper. “It’s just that none of them are here.” He inserted the key into the truck and the engine easily roared to life. He immediately turned the air conditioning on full blast, cooling down the interior of Francine as quickly as he could. The green color of her paint was lovely, but it did absorb a lot of heat.

Dipper stowed his jacket and bookbag in the rear seat before slipping on a pair of aviator sunglasses and looking out across the parking lot. Since they were so late in leaving because of Mabel’s meeting, there were few cars left—only a few isolated cliques of people who could stand the sun remained. With a looser hand than usual, Dipper shifted into drive and urged the truck forward, turning out onto the main road.


	3. Post

“So, what was that meeting with the principal actually about?” asked Dipper, after a few minutes of silence. They had navigated safely onto the street, and were gently rolling through the town of Piedmont.

“Oh, right,” said Mabel, looking up from her phone, where she had begun to click through her Pinterest pages and other social media accounts, having been deprived of them for all of three hours. “You remember how I entered that sculpture in the local charity art auction a couple months ago?”

“You mean ‘ _Apocalyptic Dorito_ in clay and cloth’? Yes, I remember it,” replied Dipper, remembering the piece she had been talking about. It was a three-dimensional triangular pyramid, about three feet tall, with the structural supports made of yarn that had been so tightly compacted that it stood up on its own. From that support, Mabel had hung various pieces of pottery that interlaced and curved in and out of each other, each one painted with a multicolored glaze. Dipper knew that it was supposed to reference Weirdmageddon, but didn’t quite understand how—art had often been beyond him.

“Apparently, someone from the California Institute of the Arts was at the exhibition and really liked what they saw. They took pictures and went back to their people at the school, and they liked it too. They put in a bid to buy it at the auction,” said Mabel, trying her best to keep her smile under wraps, but failing miserably.

“How much did it go for?” asked Dipper, fascinated—he had known that his sister was good at art, but he never thought it would get her very far. He had faith in her artistic ability, of course, but less so in the taste and understanding of the art world.

“Well, since I’m an unknown artist, not very much,” smirked Mabel. “Only five thousand dollars.”

Dipper rapidly jerked the wheel to the left to keep from veering out of the lane, shocked by the number Mabel had given him. He was expecting triple digits, not quadruple—and certainly not more than a single thousand.

“Are you going to see any of that money?” asked Dipper, immediately thinking of the practical side of things. He was happy for Mabel, but wanted her to be smart with any sudden influx of liquid cash.

“No,” said Mabel, relaxed. “It was a charity auction, after all. All the money’s going to disaster relief. That fire this past summer put a lot of people out of their houses.”

“That’s a good cause,” said Dipper, remembering how their entire school had to start wearing masks to filter out the smoke that was constantly blowing in from the north. On the worst days, the sky was tinted a muddled pink, the fresh wood smoke from the fire mingling with the normal pollution over the city. “Are you going to try to make more things like that?” he asked. “Could be a good way to get some cash. You could get a car.”

“I don’t need a car right now, though,” said Mabel, waving aside Dipper’s concerns with a toss of her hair. “I have you to chauffeur me around.”

“That won’t last forever,” cautioned Dipper. “Eventually you’ll need to get somewhere and I’ll be busy somewhere else.”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it,” replied Mabel. “As for now, I need to work on my sketching. Apparently, the CalArts people also tracked me down and talked to the principal—they said that, when I graduated, I would be a very strong candidate for a full-ride scholarship there. Apparently, it’s not very often that they tell people that before they apply.”

“You must be a shoo-in, then,” said Dipper, smiling at his sister’s success as he turned into their neighborhood. “I don’t know if you need to focus that much on other mediums, though. If you’re really good at one thing, they’d probably accept you just on that.”

“I want to get better at doodling anyway,” said Mabel, returning her attention to her phone. “If that makes me better in college, then that’s just a side benefit.”

“I’m glad to see that you’ve got your priorities straight,” sighed Dipper as he slowed down to let a dog cross the road in front of him. He wasn’t going to risk hitting an animal at any time, certainly not when Mabel was in the car with him.

“Speaking of priorities,” said Mabel, a sly look in her eyes as she scrolled down on Instagram and double-tapped on an image. “I think that you may need to think about yours a little bit.” She leaned over to Dipper and showed him her phone—Dipper only took his eyes off the road briefly to look at it, but was fast enough to read the entire caption.

Pacifica had posted a photo three hours ago—it showed herself and her parents standing on the main staircase in the Northwest Mansion. Preston was wearing a tux with a bow tie so tight that his face was as red as a tomato, while Priscilla was as red as a tomato merely from her artificial tan. She had on a deep blue dress, with a single red flower over her heart. The staircase itself was covered in meticulously placed holly branches and artificial snow, while a strand of multicolored Christmas lights snaked its way down the handrail.

The real thing that caught Dipper’s eye was Pacifica—she was standing on the step below her parents, barely coming up to their chests because of the stairs and her own petite stature. She was wearing a short black dress that pinched in at her waist, only reaching down to her knees. A red cashmere jacket was thrown over her shoulders, the fabric knitted in gorgeous and complex loops. On her chest, in the same place as her mother, sat a white flower. Her pale hair was bound in a complex braid, draping easily over her left shoulder. She was the only one attempting to show a genuine smile—she didn’t succeed, but her grimaced expression didn’t radiate insincerity the way her parents’ faces did.

“ _Excited for the Annual Northwest Christmas Eve Party this year!”_ said Dipper, reading the caption aloud to himself and to Mabel. “ _Here’s a throwback, since last year’s ball was so much fun!”_ Dipper put as much dripping sarcasm as he could into his voice—he could almost hear Preston telling Pacifica that she needed to make the caption as enthusiastic as possible. 

“So, what are you going to do?” asked Mabel as she pulled her phone back and locked it. Dipper, gently turning the wheel, crossed from the asphalt of the road to the concrete of their driveway. He used a remote attached to the sun visor to open the door to their two-car garage. Only their mother’s Buick was parked inside, so Dipper pulled in next to it and closed the door behind them.

Normally, there wouldn’t be any cars in the garage at this time of day, though Dipper would still park outside to give both of his parents room in the garage. However, he and Mabel were home alone for the night, so he could park wherever he liked.

The twins’ dad worked at a software company on the south side of the bay, while their mother was involved in local government, managing most of the day to day operations of the small town of Piedmont, surrounded as it was in its entirety by Oakland. Normally, they would only arrive home in the evening—now, however, they were out of town on a trip.

It hadn’t been a planned excursion. The twins’ mother had a younger sister who lived in Nebraska. Out of the blue, she had called Mr. and Mrs. Pines and told them that she had eloped with a young Amish man who had passed through town on his rumspringa. In a flurry of activity, the twins’ parents had flown out to meet with her, to either convince her to break off the marriage or to get her affairs in order before she went to live with the Amish.

The twin’s father hadn’t wanted to go—he had always had mixed feelings about his sister-in-law. However, their mother had won out, and they had been on a plane within four hours.

“What am I going to do about what?” replied Dipper as he idled down the truck and turned it off. He and Mabel got out and opened the rear doors to reach their bookbags; Dipper grabbed his fleece jacket as well. “I mean, I’m going to like the photo as soon as we get inside, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you should like the photo,” said Mabel, rolling her eyes. “I meant what you’re going to do about the Northwest Christmas Eve Party. Pacifica is definitely going to want you to go with her, but that means you’d be missing out on Christmas Eve with Stan, Soos, Wendy, and me! Plus, there’s probably some science that you’re going to need to do with Ford.”

“I can attend a Christmas Eve party and still be there for Christmas morning. We’re going to be in Gravity Falls for a full week—there should be plenty of time to hang out with everyone. And also, we don’t know if Wendy’s going to be coming or not. She said she might, but I haven’t heard anything else about it from her.”

“And you would be the one to know,” snickered Mabel as Dipper unlocked the side door and stepped inside, letting Mabel close and lock it behind them.

"Yes,” sighed Dipper, exasperated. “We still talk, but we’re just good friends. That’s all it’s ever going to be—I’ve got Paz now, after all, and I’m not going to risk losing her. Sometimes I wish you would give me a break from the Wendy-based mockery. It’s been three years.”

Mabel didn’t respond immediately, having frantically tossed her bookbag on the couch and headed immediately to the rear door that opened out into their small backyard. As soon as she opened the door, an elated squealing could be heard as Waddles waddled into the house.

He was a much bigger pig now than he had been three years ago, and had lost none of his baby fat. He was still shiny and pink, and loved Mabel even more. As he entered the house, he stopped on the mat and wiped the dirt off of his feet. That was the first trick that Mabel had taught him after Dipper and her parents had finally convinced her that it would be okay to leave Waddles outside.

When they had first returned from Gravity Falls, their parents had immediately objected to having the pig in the house, but couldn’t argue against Mabel’s desperate pleas. They had let him stay in the building until he had gotten too big, but then moved him to the backyard. Mr. Pines had reinforced the fence and built a house for him out of reclaimed wood. It had cushions, a heater, a lamp, and a fan—the nicest life a pig could have.

Even after seeing Waddles’ mansion, though, Mabel was scared to move him outside—it took Dipper reassuring her that pterodactyls were far rarer in California than they were in Oregon for her to agree to it. Plus, Waddles was now easily big enough to defend himself if any other creature should come looking for trouble.

“I’m not making fun of you for feeling the way you did,” said Mabel as the twins spread out within the house. Mabel briefly walked into the living room to make sure her bookbag had actually landed on the couch, but then returned the kitchen. Waddles followed her the whole way, his hooves making a surprisingly delicate sound against the tile of the kitchen floor. “I’m making fun of you for being able to keep a friendship going with Wendy afterwards. It’s weird that you can just turn those feelings off like that.”

“I didn’t turn them off,” replied Dipper as he opened the stainless steel fridge and pulled out a pork loin and a tray of vegetables that he had sliced that morning before school and wrapped in plastic. Mabel, meanwhile, immediately opened up a cabinet and pulled out a plastic barrel of cheese balls. The barrel had been drawn on with a sharpie, marking off the appropriate amount to eat in one day, labeled with the days of the week. She began to nosh on the orange spheres as Dipper covered a pan in aluminum foil. “I just outgrew them.”

The twins, who usually got home earlier than their working parents, took turns when it came to preparing dinner. Their mother handled the shopping and planning for the family, but the kids had to help cook. Dipper didn’t mind, though—cooking was therapeutic for him, since it provided a firm and concrete goal to work towards, the spatter and sizzle of oil the same as thundering rain on a tin roof.

“Now you just need to try and convince Pacifica’s parents that you’ve grown enough,” said Mabel, licking the cheese dust off of her fingers. “This party could be a good chance for that.” She alternated between eating the cheese balls herself and feeding them to Waddles, who sat on the floor next to her with his head in her lap.

“You’re right,” remarked Dipper, the wheels turning in his head. This party, though it would be a formal and stuffy affair, was a good opportunity for him to show Pacifica that he was invested in understanding and participating in her world. “Do you think I need to bring a suit?”

As he talked, Dipper lathered his hands in a gentle soap before rinsing them beneath a stream of warm water. He dried them off, then turned to the largest stretch of open counter. He reached into a cabinet and pulled out a stainless steel bowl, opening the package of vegetables and pouring them all in—a mix of onions, carrots, broccoli, and cauliflower. Throwing the plastic away, he then drizzled olive oil over the entire mix, and added a generous sprinkling of salt, freshly cracked pepper, and garlic powder. He used his bare hands to stir the ingredients together, massaging the oil and spices into the gaps between the florets before pouring the mix onto the aluminum foil and spreading it across the pan. He placed the bowl in the sink, and then washed his hands again.

“You don’t have a suit that’s good enough for a Christmas party,” Mabel pointed out, “and certainly not one that’s good enough for a Northwest Christmas party. Besides, I’m sure that Pacifica already has your wardrobe picked out. You have talked to her about this, right?”

“No,” responded Dipper sheepishly as he used a sharp knife to slice the plastic covering of the pork loin. “It’s never come up. That Instagram post was the first I’ve heard about it.”

“Wow,” said Mabel, drawing a sharp breath in through her teeth. “You do talk to your girlfriend, right? I know you weren’t able to visit as much as you wanted to over the past semester, but still.”

“We talk every day!” retorted Dipper defensively. Mabel was right about visiting, though—they had planned to see each other every three weeks, but their schedules had quickly gotten so busy that any kind of regular meeting was impossible. Dipper was able to go up one weekend in mid-October, when he and Pacifica had climbed up to the top of the water tower, but that had been it. Dipper technically could have asked Pacifica to come down at any time, since had earned the free weekends when Pacifica had been pulling out the stitches from Dipper’s leg after the dyre attack. However, he hadn’t wanted to put any more pressure on her than he could absolutely help. “We just don’t talk about her parents that much. It’s easier to talk about other things, I guess.”

“Yeah, like your conversation technique,” snorted Mabel, snapping the lid back on the cheese balls—she would have kept eating, but knew that Dipper would berate her if she went over her daily allotment. “I know why you didn’t take me with you when you went to visit her last time. Don’t think that you’re _that_ smooth.”

“You and I both know that nothing happened,” said Dipper as he lifted the heavy piece of meat from the counter onto the pan. Just like the vegetables, he proceeded to cover it in olive oil and rub salt and pepper into the fat. This time, however, he added a more vibrant blend of spices, turning the loin red with cayenne, chili powder, and paprika. Finally, he used a small bowl to whisk together a blend of brown sugar, crushed rosemary, and a small drop of molasses, which he generously applied to the top of the pork. Setting the oven on a low temperature to make sure everything finished cooking at the same time, he slid the pan onto the bottom rack and started to clean up. “We kept our hands to ourselves.”

“You wouldn’t tell me if anything had happened anyway,” grumbled Mabel as she returned the cheese balls to the cabinet. She picked up a dish towel as she did so, waiting impatiently for Dipper to rinse out the bowls and knives that he had used. 

“You’re dang right I wouldn’t tell you,” chuckled Dipper. “My business is mine, especially when it comes to what Pacifica and I do together.”

“If I can’t get it out of you, I’ll get it out of her,” smiled Mabel knowingly. “Because unlike you, she and I have been discussing our plans for the next week, and we’re going to have a sleepover.”

“Just you two?” asked Dipper, surprised as he ran warm water into the sink and lathered up a light blue sponge. He couldn’t believe that Mabel had managed to bully his girlfriend into a sleepover. Pacifica was smart enough to know that Mabel would ask relentless questions about their getting together.

“Candy and Grenda will be there too,” said Mabel, drying off the bowls as Dipper passed them to her. Dipper wasn’t sure if that would be better or worse—on the one hand, it would provide a buffer between Pacifica and Mabel, but it would also mean that Pacifica would likely be under attack from three angles instead of simply one.

“Is it at the Shack or the Manor?” asked Dipper, before realizing what a foolish question that was. After Mabel and her friends had caused a cheese-and-chocolate based fiasco at the party three years ago, Preston would never let them back onto the property—not all of them together, at least.

“Shack,” said Mabel drying off the knives and returning them to the drawer. “Speaking of which, is everything ready for tomorrow?”

“As ready as it can be,” said Dipper, thinking about what the plan was. He and Mabel would be leaving early tomorrow morning, before the sun had risen, to strike out towards Gravity Falls. It was about a nine-hour drive, which meant that there was no time to waste if they wanted to get there by dinner. They would also have to take the interstate—not the scenic route as Dipper preferred, but he understood the benefits of a direct route.

He had already loaded his suitcase with all of the clothes and books that he would need to take for the week. All that remained was packing up a few loose odds and ends and loading them into Francine. He also needed to make sure that she had a full tank of gas and that the tire pressure was within a normal range, but those could be checked quickly. “What about you?” he added, half-thinking.

“I haven’t packed a thing,” said Mabel, only partly embarrassed. It wouldn’t take her long to throw everything that she needed into a suitcase. Since they had the entire truck to themselves for the ride, they had a lot of room for luggage.

“Well,” said Dipper as he handed her the last utensil to be dried, “I would go ahead and do that. We can even load up tonight, to let us get an easier start in the morning.”

“You’ve got it,” grinned Mabel, giving a thumbs up as she tucked the final knife into its block. “You do your thing, I’ll do mine, and we’ll rendezvous back here for dinner.”

“Good plan,” said Dipper, drying his hands off. As soon as he did, Mabel took off sprinting up the stairs. It wasn’t a race, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try to win. Dipper looked at Waddles and shook his head as he followed her far more slowly, grabbing his bookbag off of the couch as he did so.

The stairs led up to a narrow hallway, with one bedroom on either side, and each of them with a bathroom. It was an ideal living arrangement—with doors right across from each other, they could talk or throw things at each other as often as they wanted. Dipper’s was on the left, while Mabel’s was on the right. He could hear the music of Jukebox the Ghost as he walked to his room, Mabel having put on a song to pack to.

He caught a glimpse of her magenta walls as he turned into his room, painted with a far cooler blue-gray. A double bed was pushed against the far corner, while a single window looked out over the quiet streets of Piedmont. High on the opposite wall from the bed was mounted a flat screen television, dangling cables connecting it to a PlayStation 4. Immediately beneath the television was a desk with his laptop on it—this allowed him to connect his computer to the larger screen whenever he wanted to feel like an important researcher.

The door to the bathroom was to the right of the desk and television, while the closet was to the immediate right of the bed. On the interior wall, above a dresser, was a world map attached to a corkboard, marked with different colored pushpins.

The red ones highlighted reports of weirdness activity—these were largely clustered around Gravity Falls and the Arctic Ocean, though there were isolated incidents elsewhere on the map. The yellow pins tracked the last reported position of the _Stan of War II_ —in this case, off the coast of Baja California. After the final rifts were sealed at the end of the previous summer, the Stans had begun their long trek home. The blue pins, meanwhile, were far sparser—these were simply places where Dipper had visited. A thin blue line ran up the West Coast, though there was one random dot in St. Louis, where he had once gone as part of a math competition.

Also attached to the corkboard was a long slip of paper—the letter Wendy had given him at the end of their first summer in Oregon. He had placed it there immediately upon getting back to Piedmont, and it hadn’t been moved since.

One other trace of Wendy also remained in the room—her fur-lined ushanka sat perched on the bedpost closest to the corner. He had worn it for quite some time, but it started to become worn, and Dipper wanted to preserve it for as long as possible. So, he had retired it to a place of honor. Like the letter, it served as a reminder of Gravity Falls, his own experiences, and the people who cared about him.

Dipper’s suitcase sat beside his bed, already fully loaded from his packing the night before. No longer needing to fiddle with it, Dipper instead started to clean out his school bag, dumping crumpled up pieces of paper and fragments of old pencils into the trash. There was nothing more relaxing than the end-of-semester cleanout.

Once the bag was empty, he walked over to his desk and reached into one of the drawers. He pulled out a thin black binder, flipping through the pages that contained his personal work. This binder had replaced his physical journal since he had given it to Pacifica three months ago—there wasn’t that much in it, since his recent encounters with weirdness had been limited, but there were a few pages of sketches and research. Most of it, however, was all theories that he had developed as a result of online research and his brief conversations with Ford.

The longer he went without some genuine weirdness, the more an itch grew in the back of his mind to go out and explore. He was grateful that tomorrow would finally provide him a chance to do just that.

He closed the binder and tucked it into his bag. He then reached back into the drawer, and pulled out a much thicker package—wrapped in brown paper and tied with a single strand of twine, he inspected the knot to make sure that it would stay in place for the journey. Satisfied in its security, he added it to his bag and zipped it up.

Dipper briefly looked around the room, checking to see if there was anything else that he needed to add to his supplies. Noticing nothing, he decided to check to see how Mabel’s packing was progressing—it was good to make sure that she didn’t get distracted by anything. Crossing the hall, he poked his head into her room.

Her room was laid out much the same as Dipper’s, with a few key differences. The walls were much warmer, and her bed sat in the middle of the wall instead of being pushed up against the corner. She had a smaller television mounted on her wall, connected to a Nintendo Switch. Instead of a desk, however, most of that corner had been transformed into an art studio, with a thin layer of plastic on the floor and walls to keep them safe. Several boxes were stacked up, each labeled as _Pottery, Painting, Sculpture,_ or something similar.

Her interior wall also had a corkboard on it—but, instead of a map, an albums worth of photos were tacked to it—mostly from Gravity Falls, though there were a few from family trips that the twins had taken with their parents. You could see the difference in their eyes—those taken before Gravity Falls, and those taken after.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” asked Dipper, leaning against the doorframe. Waddles, who had followed her and settled down for a nap on top of a pile of discarded laundry, opened his eyes.

“Nope!” yelped Mabel, having been so lost in the frenzy of both packing and dancing to the music that she hadn’t noticed Dipper come in. She quickly stuffed a bra that she was holding into the suitcase. She and Dipper were close—but not that close. “I’ve got things under control here. Go check on Francine.”

“Just making sure,” said Dipper, gently raising his hands as he returned to his room. He would load up Francine later tonight, but for now he wanted to take a break. He had been working nonstop since he had gotten up this morning, on either schoolwork, cooking, or packing, and wanted to relax. The aromatic scent of the roasting pork was wafting up from below, filling the house, but it still had a few minutes before it would be done.

Dipper turned and fell back onto his bed, pulling out his phone as he did so. He checked the news alerts he had gotten—nothing good, as always. He considered sending Pacifica a message to check on her, but quickly checked the clock. It was around 5 PM, which meant that her shift at Greasy’s would be ending for the day, and she would be driving back to the Manor.

He didn’t want to text her while she was driving. Dipper tapped around and pulled up the smartphone app that allowed him to track the location of his journal. The gift that Pacifica had given him for his 14th birthday had proven to be quite useful. Pacifica didn’t have to take the journal with her everywhere, but she took it as often as she could, just in case she ran into something that needed to be documented.

Dipper was proud of her for having dedicated herself so passionately to the investigation of weirdness. She had a real knack for stumbling into mysteries and conspiracies—something that likely had as much to do with her Northwest heritage as it did her own curiosity. Indeed, the blinking green dot of the tracker indicated that the journal was traveling along a road in the direction of the Northwest Manor. Dipper would hold off on his text for now. Instead, he closed his eyes and rested for a few moments.

He had a fun week ahead of him. For tonight, a roasted pork loin and a few episodes of _Ghost Harassers_ with Mabel. Then, tomorrow, an early start to Gravity Falls, traveling though beautiful country—even if it was via the interstate.

And, once in Gravity Falls, he had a full week to spend time with Pacifica—doing research with Ford, attending parties, just hanging out, and exploring the town… and each other. Dipper blushed inwardly as he considered that last point—in all likelihood, they wouldn’t have the time or the privacy to do anything like they had in Astoria, but he enjoyed just spending time with her—anything else would be a bonus.

He thought about Mabel’s criticism earlier of the way that he and Pacifica talked to each other. They didn’t talk about her parents that much, or really anything other than weirdness, schoolwork, and the fun times that they had. It wasn’t that they were afraid of talking about the unpleasant things—they just never came up. His life was going well, and from what he knew, Pacifica’s was as well. Speaking online just seemed to be a poor proxy for actually talking in person. Besides, if something was bothering Pacifica, she would tell him, and all he had to do was listen.

Dipper opened his eyes and, lifting his phone, opened Instagram—as for now, he would satisfy himself by liking her post.


	4. Pink Collar

“Good morning Gravity Falls!” began Toby, his voice echoing throughout Pacifica’s room. “It’s the twenty-second of December, and the temperature is 70 degrees and sunny. Make sure you put on some sunscreen if you’re going to be spending time outside. Santa’s going to need a convertible this year!”

Pacifica cracked her eyes at the bad pun and stared at her ceiling for a moment. The chandelier above her bed cast a glimmer of refracted light onto her walls as the early morning sun poured in through her windows. Closing her eyes again, she reached up to her bedframe and stretched out to her full, diminutive height, her toes nowhere close to the bottom of the bed.

“And remember,” continued Toby, speaking through Pacifica’s alarm clock, “the eastern road out of the valley is closed due to a cave-in. If you need to get out, the west is the only way.”

After Weirdmageddon, the local radio announcer had sold off the station and moved away from the town, apparently having had enough weirdness for one lifetime. Toby snapped it up for pennies on the dollar, and now ran both the Gossiper and K-GRAV. His choice in music was eclectic, but he usually delivered relevant news.

He had been the first one to break the news of the cave-in blocking off the road a week ago. He had been driving on the road at the time, and only barely managed to avoid falling in. The hole itself was only about twelve feet across, but every time they tried to fill it with something, the ground only sank down deeper. Until they could figure out where all the extra material was going, it was unlikely to be repaired.

Unfortunately, the cave-in was the most interesting thing to have happened in the public eye of Gravity Falls for quite a while, and Pacifica was sick of hearing about it. She reached over and shut off her radio alarm, leaving her alone with the sounds of the early morning.

It was seven in the morning, and she needed to get ready for her shift at Greasy’s for the day. Still, she had a few minutes before she needed to get out of bed.

Turning onto her side, she reached over to her bedside table and fumbled around for her glasses. Sliding them on her face, she blinked as her room came into far sharper focus. The lenses were smudged from her fingerprints, but she didn’t wear them enough for that to bother her.

Next, she grabbed her phone and, unplugging it, started catching up on what she had missed overnight. Opening Instagram, she saw that her post yesterday had gotten easily over a thousand likes, most of them from people who weren’t friends with her. She rolled her eyes—she knew that she needed to seriously consider getting a private account, one just for her and the few people she actually wanted to share pictures with.

She clicked on the list of people who had liked it—she wished that they were sorted alphabetically, as that would make finding the names of the twins much easier. She would never tell them about this, but she enjoyed scrolling through the list of people to see which one had liked her picture first, since they both always did. After two minutes of solid thumb work, she finally landed on Dipper’s name. She didn’t recognize his name first, but rather his stupid profile picture.

It showed him standing next to Ford, both wearing their trench coats and holding magnet guns. They had just gotten back from some adventure, because both of them were scuffed up, and had dirt smeared on their faces. A bandage was wrapped around Ford’s hand, though the wound wasn’t serious. Pacifica grinned—even though, as Dipper’s girlfriend, she felt she had a right to be in his profile picture, she didn’t resent him for being proud of his work in weirdness.

It appeared that Mabel had beaten Dipper to liking her throwback photo, though Pacifica suspected that that was only because she spent so much time sneaking glimpses at her phone during classes. It didn’t mean that Dipper paid her any less attention.

Next, she went to her messages and checked to see if she had received anything from Dipper. Other than the crescent moon emoji that he had sent her as a good night message yesterday, as he did every night, there was nothing. Pacifica had sent a cluster of stars in response.

She considered texting him, but thought better of it. They had been talking about their plans for the upcoming week for quite some time, and she knew that Dipper was in the middle of driving north from Piedmont. The distance alone made it a difficult drive, not to mention navigating both the chaotic traffic around Oakland and Mabel’s constant torrent of talk. She and Dipper had learned that Mabel could be distracted by music, but even that would soon get repetitive.

With a grunt, Pacifica propped herself up into a sitting position and, yawning, swung her bare feet out onto the carpeted floor. She was wearing one of Dipper's oversized t-shirts, the one that she had taken for herself after their second night in Astoria, coupled with coupled with shorts. Though she normally enjoyed sleeping in flannel pants, the unseasonably hot winter made that all but impossible. The old air conditioning unit struggled to keep the Manor cool as it was.

Stretching again, she walked over to her closet and pulled out her uniform—it was one of the simple pleasures of her job that she never had to worry about looking fancy. No matter how good she looked, the pancakes, hamburger steak, and scalding coffee would taste exactly the same—bad.

There was a reason she was a waitress, after all, and didn’t work in the kitchen. Her first week on the job, she had been attempting to make a sandwich for a guest and decided to substitute the scoop of mayonnaise from the industrial sized bucket with a simple aioli she had made with that exact same mayonnaise and a little bit of garlic powder. It had been sent back to the kitchen, under the claim that it tasted too fancy. She still didn’t understand what that meant.

It’s not that the aioli was bad. It was a simple recipe that Pacifica had, by then, perfected. After having discussed with Mabel and Dipper the benefits of soup and learning to cook, she had started watching numerous YouTube videos on how to cook basic dishes, and even started helping out the Northwest family chef with meal prep when she had the time.

She had considered asking her father to pay for a classic cooking instructor—which she was sure he would have gladly done, since learning how to cook would have made her a much more appealing choice of mate for some snobbish boy. However, she quickly decided that learning on her own, and under the benevolent eye of the kind chef who would actually take an interest in helping her, would be far better.

She had been progressing nicely—the first step, of course, had been learning how to turn the oven on. After that, she picked up the basics quickly, learning how to sauté vegetables and grill chicken, even frying it with a simple breading. Omelets and pancakes came after that, though she refused to let the chef teach her how to make grilled cheese. That lesson she was reserving for Dipper, on the simple cast iron of the Mystery Shack instead of the nonstick premium cookware of the Manor. She was certain Dipper would appreciate her additions to dishes more than the disgruntled patron of the diner had.

Holding her uniform in one hand, she stepped into her bathroom and hung it on the towel rack. As she did so, she wiggled her pink-painted toes—the heated tile floor of the bathroom always felt good, regardless of the outside temperature. Facing the mirror, she turned on a spray of cold water and washed her face, leaning in close to the mirror to check if any pimples or wrinkles had popped up—if they had, they would be quickly beaten into submission with a relentless assault of creams and lotions. This morning, though, she was safe.

Her eyebrows, however, had a few rogue hairs. Taking a small pair of tweezers, she winced as she plucked all of them out with a quick flick of her wrist. She had escaped the influence of her father in many ways, but she couldn’t outrun the fact that she had inherited his unruly brow hairs.

She only showered once a day, at night—it helped keep her hair under control. Before she was able to style it properly, though, she needed to put her uniform on. She didn’t need to be fancy for her job, but she wasn’t going to abandon her self-respect. Not needing to rush, she gently took off her pajamas. She folded Dipper's shirt and placed it on the counter, wanting to keep it as pristine as possible, while she merely tossed her shorts to the side.

She then pulled on her uniform, starting with the skirt. She gritted her teeth as she did so—switching from the smooth fabric of her pajamas to the much coarser weave of the uniform always irritated her skin at the beginning.

Powering through the pain, she reached around to where a simple beige bra was hanging on the back of her door. She hooked it into place and then pulled on her shirt, tucking it into her skirt and securing it with a pale blue belt. Her apron went on next, which was hanging next to where her bra had been. It was starched white, excepting one mysterious, slightly glittering purplish stain that had been on it when Lazy Susan had given it to her.

She reached into the apron pocket and pulled out her name tag. Instead of a normal metal name tag, it was a small piece of wood in the shape of the diner log, Pacifica’s name carved directly into the side. Lazy Susan didn’t have too many employees, so she carved a new nametag for each new worker she had. It was a simple gift, but it did a lot to show that she actually cared—not enough to pay competitive wages, but there weren’t that many places to work in Gravity Falls, so Pacifica couldn’t afford to be picky. It was certainly more than she would have earned if she had been working at the Mystery Shack.

With her uniform fixed, she reached into a drawer and pulled out a hairbrush, stroking her waist length hair into straight strands, wincing whenever the bristles caught on a tangle. She heavily conditioned her hair, which helped tremendously—but it was never enough to completely avoid the torturous knots. After the brushing was done, she secured her hair into a bun, high and tight.

The next step was switching out her pink glasses for contacts, a process that she never enjoyed—still, the contacts were very convenient, and made her eyes pop a little more than they did normally. After that, she quickly applied some basic eye shadow and blush—nothing too much, but enough to make her look presentable to the public. Not that they would have known the difference between aioli and mayonnaise anyway.

She did a final twirl in the mirror, seeing how her skirt flared up slightly around her knees. It was a standard costume for a waitress, but she made it look good. Shutting the lights off in her bathroom, she returned to her room.

She crossed over to her desk, but before she did so, she pulled a pair of low white socks and simple black shoes out of her closet. They weren’t fancy, but they were comfortable, which was by far the most important thing. Having worked at Greasy’s for a couple of years now, she still wasn’t fully used to standing all the time. It was active work, that was for sure.

Sitting down at the desk, she crossed her legs and slipped on her socks and shoes. Her purse was resting on the table from the day before, and she undid the clasp to make sure that Dipper’s journal was still inside. She hadn’t had any strange experiences yesterday, so there had been nothing to add.

Normally, she kept the journal in a locked drawer to protect it from any prying eyes, be those of her father or of the maid. Whenever she wasn’t at home, though, she kept it with her—it made her feel safer, knowing that the journal was close by.

She had done her best to add some entries to it in Dipper’s absence, but had only managed to fill up about half of the remaining pages. Whenever she noticed something out of the ordinary, she had to decide whether it lived up to the standards set in the rest of the journal. Dipper had filled the pages with precise details and amateur sketches, but the information and analysis were always top-notch. Compared to that, she rarely noticed enough details about the things she encountered to add anything productive—most of the normal weirdness in Gravity Falls had been documented elsewhere.

In the rare weekends off from school when she wasn’t working at Greasy’s, she had gone out into the woods and simply wandered around, trying to tumble into an experience that would be worth telling Dipper about. She had once stumbled upon a colony of gnomes, but after hearing the horror stories from Mabel, she quickly retreated.

The most mysterious thing that she had added to the journal was a massive strand of hair that had washed up on the shore of the lake. It was so thick that it created a bulge in the middle of the book—Pacifica supposed that it had come from the same creature that had left the giant tooth during the twins’ first summer. The tooth had been too big to take as a sample, so the hair was a welcome addition to the documentation. She hadn’t yet told Dipper about it, wanting to surprise him upon his return.

Closing her purse again, she stood up and slung the strap over her shoulder and headed for the door, making sure that her phone was tucked into her pocket. There were still thirty minutes before her shift started—more than enough time for the ten minute drive.

She stepped into the hallway of the Northwest Manor, closing the door behind her. Against the dark wood of the rest of the house, her pink door was a bright and cheerful aberration. She started walking towards the main entrance, only to hear the loud beeping of moving trucks as she did so.

She rolled her eyes. She had forgotten that her father was going to be supervising the preparations for the Christmas Eve party today. Normally the setup crew would have started later in the day, but they wanted to get an early start before the weather got too hot. Stepping out into the main foyer, she saw that the process of decorating was in full swing.

The double doors were propped wide open, and a conveyor belt ran directly into the center of the room. Box after box of fresh-cut holly, Christmas lights, and glassware were being sent in, taken off the belt by workers and set to the side. As large as the Manor was, there was little room for actual storage—most of the decorations were kept in an offsite warehouse. Only the most expensive accoutrements, largely shipped in from Europe, were kept in the closets.

As the crewmen worked, Preston stood at the top of the staircase, leaning lazily against the banister with a mug of black coffee in his hand. Pacifica crinkled her nose as he blew on it and the scent wafted over to her—she hated straight black coffee, and she knew that her dad did too. He only thought that it made him look stern and authoritative. He wasn’t wrong.

“Ah, Pacifica,” he said as she walked over and stood next to him at the top of the stairs. He looked her up and down, his eyes unable to hide his disgust at her waitress uniform. “I still don’t know why you insist on working at that filthy establishment. I could easily get you a job as a clerk in City Hall.”

Pacifica did her best to mask her expression, having not even gotten a ‘good morning’ from her father. Business as usual. He was, of course, right that she could have gotten a much easier job, and one that would likely have paid more. But working at Greasy’s felt like actual work, and something that was actually worth doing. The money that she earned there was hers, and hers alone. Not Northwest money—Pacifica money.

“Working among the lower class helps me understand them,” Pacifica said, putting as much cunning into her voice as she could. “It will help me to squeeze the most out of my workers later on in life.” She didn’t really believe that, of course, but wanted to earn as many points with her father as she could during the winter break. She was sure that he was going to have objections to Dipper attending the Christmas party with her, and wanted to have some goodwill stored up just in case something went wrong.

“Lateral thinking,” applauded Preston, lifting the coffee cup to his lips and taking a sip, then quickly removing it and trying to hide a grimace. “Clever.”

“I try,” replied Pacifica, acting proud. “Now, can you stop these boxes long enough for me to get out the door?” The conveyor belt took up the entire entryway, leaving no room for even her small frame to squeeze around them.

“Afraid not,” said Preston, not even bothering to appear apologetic. “We’re on a very tight schedule here. You’ll have to take the back door.”

“McGucket’s got cable running through there,” retorted Pacifica. “He’s working on something outside.” She stopped by his part of the manor to say hello and check up on him every day, just to see what new contraptions he was working on.

“Call in late, then,” said Preston, muttering under his breath. He would have preferred that, since Pacifica could have lost her job because of it. Then, she’d have to take him up on his offer of finer employment.

“I’ll figure something else out,” replied Pacifica snidely, walking down the stairs to the belt. She was only halfway down before Preston began to speak again.

“Oh, and Pacifica, dear,” he started. She winced. “I’ve also been meaning to ask you—will that Pines boy be attending the Christmas Eve party? I want to have some chicken nuggets for him if he’s going to be here, along with our normal hors d’oeuvres.”

“I’m sure he would appreciate the nuggets,” said Pacifica carefully, not turning around. “But the normal food will be fine, though he’s not a fan of caviar. I do plan on him attending as my escort.” She could imagine the rage flashing across his face at her use of the word ‘escort,’ though he quickly tamed it.

“The Southeasts will be pleased to hear that, no doubt,” Preston replied, coolly.

“I hope that they will be happy for us,” said Pacifica, rolling her eyes, knowing her father couldn’t see. Her choice to say ‘us,’ instead of ‘me,’ was also quite deliberate.

“Samuel, especially,” grunted Preston through his teeth.

“I have full faith that Samuel will be perfectly understanding,” replied Pacifica, still not turning around. “Now, I have to be getting to work.”

Preston didn’t reply, but she heard his footsteps fall away as he strode back down the hallways into the bowels of the mansion. She let out a breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Pacifica, her breathing returning to normal, walked down the remainder of the stairs and turned to the right, away from the front door.

“Miss,” said one of the workers who was unloading the conveyor belt. “We can shut it down for a little bit for you to get by. We could use a break anyway, now that he’s gone.”

“No, thank you,” replied Pacifica with a wave of her hand. “I’ll get out another way. You can take a break, though—as long as you like,” she added as the mover wiped sweat away from his brow with his hairy forearm.

“Thanks,” he replied, a sentiment echoed by the other workers as they all reached for their water bottles and took a step backwards. As they did so, they set one box down particularly hard, sending a jingling sound radiating into the room.

Pacifica winced, knowing that that box contained strands of silver bells, each of which would be hung in places where they would be shaken quite often. She almost berated the workers for being too careless—but she calmed herself, recognizing that they could have known neither what the box contained, nor how it would affect her.

Looking to get out while she still could, Pacifica walked to one of the large windows overlooking the garden and the loveseat that sat in front of it. With a quick hop, she leapt onto the loveseat, leaving the forceful imprint of her shoes in the otherwise perfectly brushed fabric. She undid the latch of the window and, stepping onto the sill, jumped out into the bushes.

She fell about four feet before she hit the mulch, bending her knees as she did so. One advantage of having wandered the woods in search of weirdness was that she was now much more physically capable. She hadn’t had any combat training, of course, but she could still hold her own.

She took her keys out of her purse as she stepped onto the sidewalk, walking along the concrete to where her Tesla was parked by the side of the house. As she did so, she looked up onto the roof. She soon saw McGucket, who was struggling to pull thick cables across the shingles.

“How’s the radio telescope going?” she shouted up at him, causing him to yelp and drop the cable. “Sorry!” she shouted afterward.

“It’s fine!” McGucket said, slapping his knees and turning to face her, holding his hand over his eyes to block out the sun. “I reckon we’ll be picking up signals from beyond Neptune in no time! Global and extra-global communication is about to be free! I’d be done if your daddy would let me use the front door!” Pacifica winced, ever so slightly—it was one of McGucket’s southern mannerisms to call Preston her ‘daddy.’ It was the one thing about him that she couldn’t convince herself to like.

“Just make sure you don’t get too hot!” shouted Pacifica, finishing the walk to her car. “It’s supposed to be a scorcher!” In response, McGucket cackled and held up his feet, which were completely protected by bandages, instead of just the arches like they normally were. He then reached into his beard and produced a metal water bottle, taking a swig from it. Pacifica smiled in response, crossing over to the driver’s side of her Tesla. She undid the electrical connection and wrapped up the cord, placing a protective cover over it.

It wasn’t a performance roadster, but it was more than enough for Pacifica—a Model Y in metallic midnight silver, the inside a patchwork of white and black leather that provided a brilliant contrast for her wardrobe. Or, it would normally, at least—even a fancy car couldn’t do that much for the drab gray of Greasy’s.

Priscilla, Pacifica’s mother, had tried to talk her into getting a Model X, in a much brighter blue or red—but she had refused. She didn’t want to show off with the more vibrant colors, and there was no need for her to have a vehicle as large as the Model X—she preferred to have a more nimble car, one that could take corners and reverse easily.

Pacifica stepped into the car and tossed her purse into the passenger seat, pressing the button that caused the vehicle to silently flare to life, the only indication that it was running being the information and programming flashing on the large display in the center. Shifting into drive, Pacifica eased out onto the main driveway, using a remote to open the Northwest gates and close them behind her as she passed through.

Soon, the perfectly manicured driveway gave way to the town-maintained asphalt pathways that ran throughout the valley. As she drove downhill, her hands resting lightly on the base of the wheel, the sunlight filtering through the trees in alternating bands of brightness and shadow, she thought about the upcoming party.

The Southeasts were, unsurprisingly, the counterparts to the Northwests. The families had come into their money at about the same time, though through very different means. They had come into contact with each other when their industries crossed paths in the 1940’s, and been close ever since.

The Northwests had risen to prominence in the early 1840s, after Quentin Trembley had vanished into his peanut-brittle tomb. They had then leveraged their local prominence into making exploitative deals with the native people, and started a lucrative business in wagon wheels, which later evolved into mudflaps.

The Southeasts, however, had made a fortune in cotton before the Civil War. They lived on a large estate outside of Charleston, South Carolina, where the war had started. Since they had been so close to the conflict, they had seen it coming and sold all of their industrial assets before the first shots were fired, keeping only their manor. Afterwards, they put all of the cash into the stock market and let it grow as the country expanded west, getting richer and richer while doing absolutely nothing.

During World War II, the Northwests had been contracted by the government to produce mudflaps for American trucks and jeeps. The Southeasts had been the ones to help them land the deal, and provided them the cash to augment their factory and increase their production capacity. Ever since then, they had attended each others’ parties every year—the Northwest Christmas Eve Party, and the Southeast Fourth of July Celebration.

In July, South Carolina was unbearably hot and humid, though Pacifica did admit that Charleston was a beautiful city, and being so close to the water helped to keep the temperature under control. And, due to lax fireworks laws, the sky absolutely erupted with carefully choreographed color and sound.

The pride and joy of the family was Samuel Southeast—he was a year older than Pacifica, and had already proven to be a shrewd dealer in the stock market. Ever since she was a child, Pacifica had overheard their parents talking about what a perfect couple they would be, uniting the two families into one that covered every point on the compass.

And, Pacifica would admit, Samuel wasn’t that bad of a catch. He was tall and slim--taller than Dipper, even--and had blonde hair and a face freckled by exposure to the southern sun. He had a thick drawl, and always dressed snappily, in pale pastels. And, since the Southeast Estate sat on the beach, his body was always ready for surfing or photoshoots, whichever was needed at the moment. His abs were far better than Dipper’s.

She and Samuel even got along fairly well—at the annual parties, they would always sneak away into a side room while the adults got drunk and play games together—typically a round of chess while they talked about their lives. Sam had made it his mission to teach her chess, but she had still never managed to beat him. He was as shrewd with the chessboard as he was the family business—as good at the family business as he was, however, he hadn’t let the money turn him into a jerk like Preston had.

Still, even when the two teenagers were sitting in the dark watching the annual fireworks display, they had never touched each other. They were good friends, but there was just no romantic chemistry—certainly not of the baby-making kind that their parents were hoping for. Not like the chemistry she had with Dipper, by any means.

She wished that their parents would just give up on having the two of them get together, since it clearly wasn’t going to happen. However, there seemed to be an unspoken agreement between Pacifica and Sam that they would at least let their parents entertain their fantasies until the both of them were old enough to escape.

She was looking forward to seeing Sam again—when she had told her father that she thought Samuel would be understanding of the relationship between her and Dipper, she had genuinely meant it. She hoped that they would get along well together—they could play each other in chess while Pacifica sat to the side watching their concentrated faces as she sipped on a glass of champagne.

The party was two days away, however, and she currently had more pressing matters to attend to. The log of Greasy’s came into view as she rounded a corner, pulling around to the back parking lot. She pulled up into her designated space and stepped out, locking the car behind her.

Crossing to the back, she unspooled the extension cord that lay on the gravel and carefully stuck the unplugged end of it into her Tesla’s charging port, taking care to make sure that there wasn't actually any contact between the metal. After learning that she drove an electric car, Lazy Susan had run an extension cord from the kitchen to outside so that she could get a charge. Of course, you can’t simply plug an electric car into a regular wall outlet, but Pacifica always made sure to prop the cord in such a way that it looked like she was using it, just to make Lazy Susan happy.

Grabbing her purse, containing Dipper’s journal, from the passenger seat, Pacifica checked her appearance in the sideview mirror and brushed back a few free-flying hairs. Then, turning to the diner, she walked up to the kitchen entrance and stepped inside silently—Lazy Susan had also removed the bell that hung over the door.


	5. Dinner

Mabel started awake as the sound of the truck’s horn echoed through the air. She looked around in a panic before seeing Dipper laughing to himself in the driver’s seat.

“I wasn’t bothering you at all!” Mabel berated him. “I was sleeping in the sun and minding my own dang business. I even didn’t get coffee when we stopped for lunch. There's no reason to harass me at all.”

“I wasn’t harassing you,” defended Dipper, still smiling as he looked ahead. “I was waking you up in a fun way. Besides, it’s safer, since I didn’t take my hands off the wheel.”

“I’d rather be a little less safe than be woken up by you doot-dooting that horn all over the place,” Mabel mumbled. “Why’d you wake me up, anyway?”

“Well, we’re here,” said Dipper, gesturing ahead of him. “I thought you’d like to know so you can wipe the crust out of your eyes before we see anybody.”

Approaching from the western road, the valley of Gravity Falls dipped down before them. Having left well before sunrise that morning, and only taken short breaks for breakfast, lunch, and the bathroom, it was only a little after five as they descended into town. The sky was rapidly growing darker—it may have been as hot as summer, but the sun still set very early in the evening. Already, the lights in town were blinking on.

“That drive went by really fast,” commented Mabel as she stretched and cracked her back. She couldn’t bend enough in her seat normally, so she had to contort herself by draping her arms and shoulders into the back of the truck. As she did so, she scratched the back of Waddles’ head, who was sleeping on the bench seat in the back. He squealed in response, then went back to sleeping. Returning to a normal posture, she reached out and clicked on the radio, dialing through the stations as the amber numbers flashed across the screen.

“This is K-GRAV,” came Toby’s voice, crackling over the airwaves. Both Dipper and Mabel liked his radio station, for different reasons. Dipper enjoyed it because he reported the weirder side of happenings in the valley. Mabel enjoyed it because it showed that he was successful in following his dreams. They both enjoyed it because they didn’t have to look at Toby’s face.

“I hope everyone out there’s looking forward to Christmas, because it looks like we’ve got some interesting weather moving in tomorrow. Snow! Actual snow!” Toby announced proudly.

“That’s impossible,” snorted Dipper. “Meteorologists are always wrong about the important things. Besides, it’s been scorching hot for weeks now. Things aren’t going to change overnight.”

“After everything we’ve seen,” chided Mabel, “you think that a snowstorm is the thing that’s just too weird to happen in Gravity Falls?” Dipper shrugged, admitting that snow did seem more likely than a multi-bear or the shapeshifter.

“A polar vortex has rapidly developed in the Arctic,” continued Toby through the radio. “And it’s currently hurtling towards us, and shows no signs of slowing down! It’ll probably be here by the end of tomorrow, with snow all throughout the night. And, depending on how hot it is the day before, we could be looking at multiple feet of snowdrift! Make sure that you’ve all got plenty of firewood!”

“We’d better go tell Soos to head out with an axe!” exclaimed Mabel, turning the volume down as commercials started playing, mostly for local businesses. Since it was such a small town, though, there was really little need for advertisements—there wasn’t that much competition between stores.

“He’ll have all of tomorrow to work on it,” said Dipper as he slowed down the truck, going from the open road of the valley to the grid of the town streets. “Besides, we have a pit stop to make first.”

“What are we doing?” asked Mabel curiously. “I thought we were headed straight to the Shack. I want to give Soos the leftover pork from last night. It’s going to blow his mind.”

“Well, thank you for complimenting my cooking skills,” said Dipper, mockingly tipping his ball cap to her as he did so. “Though, I still think it’s weird that you eat pork while being the only person in the world with a pet pig.”

“I’m the only person in _Piedmont_ with a pet pig,” corrected Mabel. “I guarantee you that there are other pet pigs in the world, though none are as cute as Waddles is.” Waddles squealed appreciatively.

“He is a cute pig,” Dipper admitted. “But to answer your question, no, we’re not going to the Shack first. We’re going to stop by Greasy’s and get dinner.”

“Ohhhh,” smirked Mabel knowingly. “You just want to see your girlfriend.”

“I don’t _just_ want to see my girlfriend,” replied Dipper, tapping the wheel. “I also want to have some of Lazy Susan’s pancakes.”

“I guess pancakes are okay,” said Mabel, already swallowing as her mouth started to water. Whenever Mabel had pancakes, there was usually more syrup than there was actual bread, but that didn’t make them any less delicious.

The twins looked out into the town as they drove through it, checking to make sure that nothing had changed since their last visit. For Mabel that had been three months, for Dipper a month and a half—Mabel had been busy with her community art festival when Dipper had come to visit Pacifica, and couldn’t duck out of the work. However, all that did was make her more excited when she was finally able to return.

Soon, the familiar outline of Greasy’s diner loomed on the side of the road. It appeared fairly busy, with most of the parking spaces full. However, having talked with Pacifica about the secrets of the diner, Dipper swung around to the back and pulled up next to her Tesla. Francine puttered to a stop as he turned off the engine, Waddles slowly getting to his feet as the twins disembarked. Mabel opened the door for him, and he leapt to the ground with a shuddering thud. Normally, pigs only entered the diner wrapped in plastic, but Waddles had special status.

They walked around the side of the building to the main entrance. Dipper reached for the doorknob, but wasn’t able to reach it before Mabel had flung the door open and charged inside, immediately scanning the surroundings for any sign of Pacifica.

At that exact moment, the blonde exited the kitchen, bearing two plates, both piled high with fries and plain-mayonnaise topped burgers. Her blue eyes immediately saw Mabel, as a result of both her ecstatic expression and her loudly colored sweater. Pacifica broke out in a smile, and acknowledged the twins with a nod before setting down the plates for a couple in a booth. Then, reaching into her stained apron for a pen and pad, she walked over to her friends. 

“So, will it just be the two of you this evening, or will someone else be joining your party?” asked Pacifica, making her voice as tired and exasperated as a hostess’s could be.

“Well, I was kind of hoping that one more person would be showing up,” said Dipper, rubbing the back of his head with a smile, “but I think she may be busy with work.”

“Her shift ends in ten minutes,” replied Pacifica, tucking away the pad and pen and extending her arms for a hug. Dipper stepped forward, only to be cut off by Mabel, who wrapped Pacifica up in a cascading wave of fluff. Waddles, following her, started running between the girls’ legs, causing them both to stumble into each other. Soon, they broke with a chuckle.

“I thought you weren’t going to be getting into town until later this evening,” she said, stepping around Waddles and up to Dipper. This time, she easily stepped into his embrace and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling up to his lips for a brief kiss. His hands pulled her waist in slightly before she stepped back.

“Keep things calm,” whispered Pacifica. “The patrons don’t like it when it seems like the waitress has a life outside of the restaurant.” Dipper looked around, but no one seemed to be paying them any attention. Still, he let Pacifica step back before speaking.

“I wanted to surprise you,” answered Dipper sheepishly. “I thought we could all get dinner, just us, before we get to the Shack and everything goes crazy.”

“I like that idea,” said Pacifica, looking at the date on her phone. “I guess the sleepover tonight will make things pretty hectic.”

“We’re going all night!” shouted Mabel enthusiastically. “I can’t wait for us to have time for girl talk again! And this time with Candy and Grenda! Don’t forget that this will be the first time we’ve all gotten to talk since you and Dip became a thing!”

“Don’t remind me,” answered Pacifica, rolling her eyes. “Look, why don’t you two go ahead and sit down, and I’ll go put your orders into the kitchen. I’ll hang up my apron, and then come join you.”

“I want pancakes!” said Mabel, having had the Greasy’s menu memorized.

“Coffee too?” asked Pacifica. “I don’t think we have enough cream and sugar to make it the way you like it, though.”

“Boo, no coffee then,” answered Mabel as she started to walk towards a booth, Waddles faithfully following at her heels. “Just apple juice.”

“I think I’ll take pancakes too,” said Dipper, Pacifica turning to face him.

“No you won’t,” replied Pacifica, confusing him. “There’s a new special I want you to try.”

“It’s not sushi, is it?” he answered queasily.

“There is no fish involved,” she said with a grin. “Even I wouldn’t subject you anything with fish from Greasy’s.”

“I was worried that you had lost your taste,” Dipper said, striding to the booth where Mabel sat as Pacifica turned on her heels and walked next to him.

“I lost my taste when I started dating you,” smirked Pacifica, gently bumping into him with her hips. Dipper gently pushed back, then sat down in the booth as she continued to the kitchen.

“You two are getting along quite well,” said Mabel, sitting across from Dipper. Waddles sat on his hindquarters in the booth next to her, ready to participate in the conversation if some percepshrooms happened to be nearby.

“Things are good,” smiled Dipper. “Then again, you’d know if they weren’t.”

“Of course I would,” answered Mabel as she tore open a sugar packet and licked her finger, sticking it into the packet and sucking on it. “I’m not only an expert in getting people together, but making sure they stay together after the honeymoon phase wears off.”

“There hasn’t been a honeymoon phase yet,” replied Dipper, rolling his eyes. “You know that too.”

“’Yet’ being the key word,” said Mabel with a sly grin, causing Dipper to kick her under the table. “But seriously, I’m glad to see that you’ve been handling things okay. I thought the distance might make things a little iffy. I know that was something that you had been worried about.”

“I’m happy,” said Dipper, thinking back to all of the late-night conversations he had had with Pacifica in Piedmont—most of them while she had been kicking his butt at _Bloodcraft_. Despite being a couple, she still took a certain sadistic pleasure in hanging him out to dry like wet laundry. “I just hope that she feels the same way.”

“If she didn’t, I don’t think she would have let you start making out with her in front of the good people of Gravity Falls.”

“That wasn’t making out,” pointed out Dipper. “Of all people, you know that I have limits on public displays of affection. Even walking with my arm around her is awkward.”

“That’s just because she’s so much shorter than you,” said Mabel, as Pacifica pushed through the swinging doors of the kitchen and back into the main dining area, holding a tray laden with glasses and plates. She was no longer wearing her apron, and her belt seemed to be cinched a bit tighter around her waist. “Still, she’s good at balancing heavy things.”

“Pancakes for Mabel, and a plate of our premium leftovers for Waddles,” said Pacifica, setting two dishes down on the table. One was a plate containing a steaming pile of golden brown disks, towering and fluffy. The other was a large bowl, filled to the brim with leftover gravy and potato soup, with discarded fries and onion rings mixed in as well. If it hadn’t come from other people’s plates, it would almost have looked delicious.

“And for Dipper,” she continued, “a standard cheeseburger and fries with a Pitt Cola.”

Dipper eyed it suspiciously as she set the plate down. Other than the overlarge mountain of fries on the side, the burger appeared perfectly normal. Pacifica returned the tray to the kitchen and then hopped back to the booth, sliding in next to Dipper and resting her thigh gently against his.

“What’s so special about this?” asked Dipper, lifting up the top bun to get a look inside before Pacifica smacked his hand away.

“No peeking,” she said, smiling. “It’s nothing bad. I want you to eat it and then for you to tell me what’s different about it.”

“Paz,” Dipper sighed, “you know that I don’t like surprises.”

“This isn’t a surprise,” replied Pacifica, well aware of Dipper’s fear and doing her best to address it. “Think of it as a guessing game. You have my personal guarantee as a person, your girlfriend, and a Northwest that nothing on that sandwich will harm you.”

“I’ll trust you on the counts of being a person and my girlfriend,” said Dipper, wrapping his hands around the burger. “The Northwest count not so much. But either way, you also gave me way too many fries.”

“They were the last of the batch,” answered Pacifica, reaching out and grabbing one of the salty, golden-brown sticks. “Besides, at least half of them are for me.” She tossed the fry into her mouth and started to delicately chew as Dipper hesitantly lifted the burger to his mouth.

Pacifica carefully watched his expression as his teeth sliced into the burger—an exploratory bite, but enough for him to get some of every ingredient. His expression was initially one of confusion, replaced by a smile as he recognized the powerful sharpness of the garlic, and then thoughtfulness as his mind started to work through what he was going to say to his girlfriend about it. He would have to tread carefully.

“It’s an aioli, right?” he said after swallowing.

“Congratulations,” grinned Pacifica. “You’re the first person to have gotten it right.”

“I could tell from the garlic,” said Dipper, going in for another bite. “It’s the only thing that would make any kind of sense on this burger.”

“What do you think of it?” asked Pacifica, eyes wide. “You guessed what it was, but how does it actually taste?”

“It’s really good,” said Dipper, taking yet another bite. “The problem isn’t the aioli, it’s the rest of the burger. It just doesn’t really go with it. If it was swiss or provolone cheese instead of cheddar, a brioche bun instead of sesame, and slightly differently seasoned meat, it would all go really well together.”

“I don’t know if I can convince Lazy Susan to add all of that to the menu,” said Pacifica, looking over at her boss. Lazy Susan was patrolling behind the counter, managing both the dining room and the kitchen at the same time. She waved at the trio when they made eye contact, and they returned the wave with a smile.

“Maybe if you add syrup to it,” began Mabel, reaching over to the remainder of the burger with the cask of syrup in her hand, ready to pour. “I bet she would add it then.”

“If you defile my burger with that,” said Dipper sharply, drawing the plate away, “I’ll dump Waddles’ bowl outside.”

“That wouldn’t stop him,” replied Mabel, leaning over and hugging the pig, who only briefly stopped eating to look around the table. “He needs a full belly for our sleepover tonight. That way he doesn’t get into our snacks.”

“You’ll be the one giving him the snacks anyway,” said Pacifica, continuing to scavenge Dipper’s fries.

“It would be rude not to give him some!” said Mabel. “It would make him feel like he wasn’t part of the group.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” she replied, pulling her legs up into the booth. Getting some pressure off of her feet after having been standing around all day provided some much needed relief. “Also, what time should I try to be there tonight? I don’t want to get there too late.”

“It’s about five-thirty now,” said Dipper, checking his watch. “If we leave here around six, and we have an hour to get caught up with the rest of the people at the shack… maybe around seven-fifteen?”

“You’re not going to be part of the sleepover, silly,” said Mabel, flicking a drop of syrup onto Dipper’s fries, which Pacifica continued eating, unperturbed. “I get to decide when she gets there." Dipper rolled his eyes

“Seven-fifteen would be great!” Mabel continued, turning to Pacifica.

“Why can’t Dipper join?” asked Pacifica, sidling closer to him. “Are you just going to throw him out of the attic?”

“He can come up to sleep,” answered Mabel, polishing off the final bites of her pancakes, and scraping the few fluffy and syrupy remnants into Waddles’s bowl. “But not before that. Sleepovers are strictly for us girls. Besides, I’m sure that he and Soos will have some catching up to do.”

“What about Stan and Ford?” asked Pacifica, looking at Dipper. “Have they not gotten back from their Arctic mission yet? It’s been months since that last rift was closed.”

“I don’t know if they’re here quite yet,” said Dipper, drawing the Weslee III out of his jacket sadly. Pacifica felt her heart drop when she saw it, thinking that it had just gone off and was about to send the three of them on another rift-sealing mission. She realized, though, that Dipper was just pulling it out to see if he had received any additional communications from the Stan of War II.

“Where were they last?” asked Pacifica, placing her hand on Dipper’s forearm. She knew traveling by sea was dangerous, but she had faith that Stan and Ford together could conquer anything that nature threw at them. After all, they had already survived an apocalypse, and then a kraken attack.

“The last update I got from them, they had just passed San Francisco,” said Dipper, setting the Weslee face down on the table, not being able to get any more information from it.

“And they didn’t stop by Piedmont to say hello to you?” she said, looking from one twin’s face to the other. Both of their expressions were downcast.

“No,” said Mabel, gently patting Waddles on the head. “They said they had a good reason, but couldn’t tell us because it was confidential. Apparently, they found something out there in the ocean and Ford wanted to get it back to his lab as quickly as possible. It was too dangerous to bring close to the big city.”

“I’m sure they were telling the truth,” said Pacifica, rubbing Dipper’s arm. “They’d never skip out on you two unless they absolutely couldn’t help it. But who all else is going to be there?” she continued, trying to lighten the mood. 

“Soos, Melody, Candy, and Grenda for sure,” answered Mabel, looking over at Dipper. Suddenly, his phone chirped.

He pulled it out of his jacket and checked the screen. Pacifica, unable to keep her eyes from wandering, read behind him and saw that the redhead had just sent him a message. She felt jealously flaring up in her veins, and she pulled a little bit closer to Dipper.

 _‘DUUUUDE,’_ the message read, ‘ _just found out my boss is letting me off two days early for Christmas. I’ll get back in town late tomorrow. Get the movies ready!’_

“Looks like Wendy’s going to be able to make it too,” said Dipper, unable to conceal his smile. Mabel’s eyes flashed over to Pacifica with worry, seeing the anger in her expression before she was able to mask it. Pacifica was certain that Mabel was going to talk with her about it later on during the sleepover.

“That’s good news, then!” answered Mabel, putting on as clearly cheery of a tone as she could. She loved Wendy, almost as much as Dipper, but wanted to make sure that her presence wasn’t going to add any conflict into their newly established dynamic as a trio. Wendy hadn’t been in town at all last summer, instead working as a rookie ranger in the woods outside of Eugene. In her absence, Pacifica had grown closer to both of the twins. “When is she getting here?”

“Late tomorrow,” Pacifica blurted out, unable to stop herself. She immediately went silent, but didn’t move—she had just revealed that she had been snooping on Dipper’s texts. She hadn’t meant to, but still didn’t look up to meet his face.

“Good,” said Mabel, trying to smooth things over. “That means that you two will be able to have all day tomorrow to do your weird couple stuff before she gets here.” Pacifica relaxed—they did have time together. “On that note,” continued Mabel, “what weird couple stuff _are_ you going to be doing?”

“We hadn’t really planned anything,” said Dipper, looking down at Pacifica. If there was any sternness in his expression over her accidental snooping, she certainly couldn’t detect it. “Is there anything that you want to do? We went up to the water tower last time.”

“Well,” began Pacifica, “now that we have some more time, I want to do some weirdness investigation with you. You told me about that crashed alien spaceship.”

“I did tell you about that!” said Dipper, his expression brightening. “I thought it might be too snowy in the winter, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to be a problem.”

“Just make sure you get out before evening,” said Mabel, sipping on her bottle of apple juice. “That’s when Toby said the snowstorm would be moving in.”

“Snowstorm?” asked Pacifica curiously. “It’s scorching outside.”

“It was on the radio coming into town,” replied Dipper. “It’s supposed to be pretty bad.”

“If it’s bad enough, they might cancel the Christmas party,” said Pacifica, unable to conceal the twinge of excitement in her voice at the possibility.

“Make sure you tell me how the party is, Dipper,” said Mabel, pointedly. “I won’t be able to come to this one, but I expect it to be just as fantastic as last time."

“I was meaning to ask about that, Paz,” began Dipper, looking over at her. “Is there anything special that I need to do for that? I mean, other than get fitted for a suit and make a million dollars overnight for your father.”

“Well, the million dollars would be nice,” answered Pacifica, “but I think you’ll manage without it. And you don’t even need to get fitted for a suit. I’ve already got yours picked out.”

“I knew you would,” said Dipper, glancing at Mabel’s self-satisfied expression. “I’m not a fan of suits, but I’ll manage it for one night.”

“You’ll have to,” answered Pacifica, her waitress skills taking over as she finished the final fries and started to pile the plates on top of each other. Waddles’ bowl was, surprisingly, the cleanest. “The summer party is a big deal publicly, but the Christmas Eve party is much more intimate. Fewer people, and more family and close associates. These are the ones who actually matter.”

“Way to calm my nerves,” mumbled Dipper, clasping his hands under the table.

“You’ll do fine,” reassured Pacifica, pecking him lightly on the cheek. “Besides, that’s still two days away. For now, you just need to focus on surviving this sleepover and then showing me this crashed ship tomorrow. Speaking of which, if you want me at the shack by seven-fifteen, you’d better hurry up and get moving.”

Dipper glanced at his watch to confirm that she was correct, and then began to move. Waddles leapt to the floor as Mabel clambered out behind him, Pacifica and Dipper moving more slowly and deliberately.

“What do I owe you for the food?” asked Dipper, reaching for the wallet in his back pocket.

“It’s on the house,” replied Pacifica, causing Dipper to relax his arm with a smile. “Consider it a down payment for your dealing with my family at this party.”

“You’ll have to get used to those people eventually, Dipstick,” said Mabel, lightly patting him on the head as she walked to the door, heading for the truck. Waddles briefly looked between Pacifica and Dipper, then followed after her.

“But not too used to them,” continued Pacifica as she lifted up the plates. “I’d rather get more used to your people.”

“If I’m being honest, I’d rather that too,” said Dipper, bending down to gently kiss her on the forehead. She closed her eyes, then opened them with a smile.

“You two head on,” she said, gesturing towards the door. “I’ll wrap up here and head back to the Manor to pick up my stuff, then I’ll meet you at the Shack.”

“I’ll see you there,” said Dipper, turning and heading after Mabel. Before he left, though, Pacifica clearly saw him drop a twenty dollar bill into the tip jar, more than enough to pay for their food. She only rolled her eyes as she headed for the kitchen.

As Dipper swung open the door, he could clearly hear Lazy Susan’s lovable twangy voice start to loudly tell Pacifica what a cute couple they made together. Dipper was unsure if she was referring to him and Pacifica, or to Mabel and Waddles.


	6. Shack

The trees lining the drive to the Mystery Shack were barren, the few remaining leaves clinging to the branches a shriveled brown. Despite the warm weather, the trees had shed their colorful clothing right on schedule. The final remnants of the sun disappeared over the horizon as the twins approached the Shack, leaving the gravel parking lot lit only by the warm yellow rays pouring from the windows.

Since winter was the off-season and night was falling rapidly, there were only two cars in the parking lot. One was Soos’s truck, which looked almost exactly as they remembered it. The main difference was that it was a good bit cleaner, since Melody now drove it just as often as her husband.

After Soos took over the Mystery Shack three years ago, he had immediately offered Melody a position working the register, as well as other general duties. She had accepted without a moment’s hesitation, springing at the chance to work in a place both so unique and rent free. Unfortunately, when she had moved in, Abeulita had moved out.

The little old lady was sweet, but there simply weren’t enough bedrooms in the Shack for all of them. She couldn’t climb the stairs to the attic easily, and couldn’t sleep well in Ford’s room—she always felt uncomfortable in there, for reasons that she was never quite able to explain. So, with her out of the house, Soos and Melody had started an intense remodeling project.

Soos first transformed the attic back into the twins’ bedroom as best he could, ensuring that there would always be a place for them when they returned over breaks. Ford’s underground study was turned into his bedroom, with all of his Bill memorabilia thrown away and burned. His old room became Soos and Melody’s new room, with a bed Soos had built himself from wood he had collected from a fallen coastal redwood.

The only rooms that remained substantially unchanged were the museum itself, living room, gift shop, and Stan’s old room. Even though he no longer worked for Stan, Soos still felt like entering his former boss’s personal room was a violation of the sanctity of their relationship. Melody didn’t complain, since that merely meant one less room that she had to worry about keeping clean.

After the remodeling project was complete, a year more passed before Soos finally popped the question. He took Melody back to Hoo-Ha Owl’s Pizzamatronic Jamboree—albeit one across the state line in California. They had briefly descended into a panic when the power blinked, but the rest of the night had gone off without a hitch.

The ceremony had been held on the shores of Gravity Falls Lake over last winter break—Dipper, Mabel, and Pacifica had all attended, along with Abuelita and almost half of the remaining townsfolk. This also marked the only time that the Stans had returned to the town after they had set sail. During the twins’ birthdays, they had always used a full-body hologram Ford had invented to be there, even if they weren’t as huggable.

For the wedding, though, they had undertaken the two month journey back to the Falls, mooring the _Stan of War II_ in Reedsport and then having McGucket pick them up and bring them back in the Stanleymobile, which had largely sat unused, covered in a tarp. Stan had refused to let anyone other than McGucket have the keys, since he rarely went joyriding.

However, it was that same Stanleymobile that sat outside the doors of the Mystery Shack next to Soos’s truck. It appeared as though the Stans had made it back safely after all.

Before either Dipper or Mabel had a chance to say anything, Waddles let out a joyous squeal and leapt out of the back of the truck, racing to the front door and starting to walk around in front of it impatiently. He loved Mabel, but he was missed Stan as well—Stan himself wouldn’t admit it, but he had grown fond of the ham hock after the incident with the pterodactyl.

Mabel opened her door and raced to the Shack as soon as Dipper shifted into park. When she approached the steps, the door to the Shack was flung open, throwing the gravel lot into a warm light, the silhouettes of the occupants inside casting shadows as they all poured out into the night. Dipper jogged to the door, quickly catching up with Mabel.

“Kids!” Stan said gruffly, as happy as he would let himself appear to be. In the three years since their first summer together, he had gotten a few more wrinkles, but was still as tough and wily as ever. He continued to wear his fez, claiming that it made his ears look smaller. And, while he still donned his suit for special appearances at the Shack, he could now be caught more often in his tank top and shorts. This was what he was wearing now, as the twins wrapped him up in a hug.

“It’s good to see you, Grunkle Stan,” mumbled Mabel into his shoulder as Waddles pranced frantically around their legs.

“Why didn’t you call and tell us that you had gotten here?” asked Dipper, pulling away. “We were worried about you.”

“Eh, don’t stress about us old salts,” said Stan, waving his hand dismissively. “We’ve handled everything fine so far.”

“There’s actually a good reason for that,” said Ford, his voice still capable of selling insurance to just about anyone. “It’s good to see you Dipper.” He reached out and shook Dipper’s hand before pulling him in for a quick hug, only to be assaulted by Mabel, who surrounded both of them with her arms. Waddles stayed next to Stan.

“Grunkle Ford!” said Mabel, horrified. “This turtleneck has holes in it! How could you let this happen?”

“It’s good to see you too, Mabel,” said Ford, gently scratching her head. She purred affectionately in response before stepping back. “I’ll have to have you do maintenance on my wardrobe while you’re here. But yes, Dipper! There is something we discovered in the Arctic that I absolutely have to show you. It may be the most astounding thing I’ve discovered outside of Gravity Falls.”

“Is it in your lab here, or did you put it in the bunker?” asked Dipper, wanting to get to work with his long-distance mentor as soon as possible.

“It’s here,” said Ford, gesturing for them all to come inside. “Let’s get in before the bugs eat us to death. This heat wave seems to have brought them out in spades.”

Dipper and Mabel ran back to the truck, lifting their suitcases out of the back and rolling them into the front hallway. Dipper had his bag slung over his shoulder, filled with the mysterious brown package and his replacement journal. Mabel had a similar bag, packed with her Switch and knitting supplies. She had anticipated that the Stans may have been in need of her sewing skills.

Dropping his luggage in the front hallway as Mabel continued on to the stairs, which were no longer as crooked as they had been originally, Dipper started to rush to the vending machine to descend into the lab. However, before he was able to get very far, he was enveloped in a crushing embrace and lifted easily off of the ground, struggling to breathe.

“DUDES!” exclaimed Soos, as Mabel turned around and ran back to him. “Welcome back!” He looked just as the twins had remembered him—now, however, his hair was neatly combed and he had started to regularly shave the few hairs he was capable of growing on his shin. “I’ve got the attic all set up for you!”

“Thanks, Soos,” said Dipper, struggling free of the hug as Mabel reached in for her own. She always enjoyed hugging Soos, being the soft and warm panda that he was. Behind them, Melody appeared in the doorway, resting against the frame. She wore loose gray sweatpants, slippers, and a bright orange sweatshirt. Her hair was loosely held in a ponytail, and she wore no jewelry. She looked tired, but happy—whether that was just from dealing with the new arrival of the Stans and the twins, or from something else, no one was sure. But she hugged Mabel with as wide a smile on her face as ever.

“How’s business?” asked Mabel as they all walked into the kitchen together. Ford had already descended to his lab, but Dipper decided that whatever he had found would have to wait.

Before Soos was able to answer, Dipper briefly paused. He had seen the Shack decorated for Christmas before, of course, but it never failed to astonish him.

The colors were the standard red and green, but everything else was decidedly weird. Ornaments in the shape of gnomes hung from the antlers and jaws of the various taxidermy animals mounted on the walls. Long strips of redwood bark, interlaced with sprigs of greenery, were draped from the rafters and corners like tinsel, lending the room a wonderful aromatic smell, though it didn’t exactly scream ‘Christmas.’

There was a tree—but instead of sitting on the floor, it was suspended upside down from the ceiling, taking inspiration from the Shack’s competing attraction, the Upside Down House. Instead of a star on the point, there was a carved model of the Mystery Shack, made from alien metal. Snakeskin garland ran around the tree, which was covered in both white and colored lights, blinking on and off in phase. There were only a few ornaments—all of them appeared handmade, and seemed to hearken back to some adventure they had all had together. Dipper immediately recognized a llama and a six-fingered hand, and the star from Gideon’s Tent of Telepathy that had been tucked around in the back. The few presents that they had were stacked beneath the tree, almost reaching the tip of it.

“Dudes, it’s been great!” said Soos, straightening his fez and drawing Dipper’s attention away from the décor and back to him. “I’ve got to show you this—the new Mr. Mystery bobbleheads finally came in!” He reached over to a shelf and held up a new, cheaply made plastic tchotchke—instead of it being Stan, as it had been previously, Soos was now rendered diminutive with his goofy, buck-toothed smile. It was no longer a simply bobblehead either—there were springs at both his neck and his hips.

“With double-bobbling action!” exclaimed Mabel, taking it from him and immediately tucking it away into the recesses of her sweater. “I’m confiscating this for research purposes.”

“I’ve got hundreds!” said Soos, gesturing to the storeroom across the building. “Take as many as you like!”

“But not too many,” cautioned Melody. “We do need to turn a profit on those. Double-bobbling action is expensive.”

“Eh, don’t worry about that,” said Stan, who was sitting at the table in the living room. “I’ll fleece some rubes while we’re here to cover our stay. You’ll be in the red in no time.”

“Don’t you mean in the black?” asked Melody, turning around, concerned.

“That’s what I said,” said Stan, grinning as he cracked into a Pitt Cola. It was late for caffeine, but his body had adapted to such abuse.

“Dipper!” bellowed Ford from beneath them. “Are you coming or not? I don’t want to leave this thing hooked up for too long!” 

“On my way!” responded Dipper as he turned on his heels and ran to the vending machine. As he left the room, he saw Stan produce a deck of cards and start shuffling them as Soos and Melody sat down at the table with him. Mabel, straining as she grabbed both her and Dipper’s suitcases, started to make her way up the stairs to the attic.

He would hang out with all of them later, but as for now, there was work to be done. The vending machine was propped wide open, and a draft of cold air was drifting up from below—it was far cooler underground than it was upstairs. Dipper shivered slightly as he descended, not wearing his normal jacket due to the outside heat.

The elevator sat open as well, and Dipper descended to the lowest level, the one the portal had previously sat on. Ford’s private study was now his personal room, and Dipper didn’t think that he’d keep such an apparently important discovery in there.

He was correct, as he immediately saw Ford when he stepped out into the lab. Soos, now in on the secret, had renovated down here as well. Of course, he wasn’t capable of wiring the complicated equipment that Ford constantly used, but he was able to make the space habitable.

The entryway, full of old computer banks and the control panel from the portal, had been turned into somewhat of a break room. There was hardwood flooring, and bookshelves lined the walls where the servers had used to be. A silver fridge sat in the corner, along with a microwave and a coffeepot. The only thing that remained the same was the glass panel that allowed you to look out into the lab proper, and the desk that sat in front of it. Both had been thoroughly cleaned.

The large space where the portal had once sat, however, had been almost completely changed. The dirt floor had been replaced by concrete, punctuated by drainage grates for spills and other incidents. Metal frames lined the reinforced walls—some of them had been filled with wired computer servers, but not all of them—Ford hadn’t had that much time to work down here, after all. The already impressive computational prowess of the room could be increased much further.

Where there weren’t metal frames, there were large hooks and shelves that contained weapons and other engineering works-in-progress. Dipper recognized a few magnet guns, as well as three glue guns and the reassembled quantum destabilizer. Ford was a proud advocate of the defense-in-depth strategy.

On the far wall sat a bank of computer screens, and a large semicircular desk surrounded by different keyboards and input controls. Ford had made it a priority to get caught up on how technology had improved during his thirty years away, and had quickly fallen in love with it. The desk appeared to contain nothing but work supplies, but Ford had told Dipper that at least one of its drawers contained an Xbox One. The division between PlayStation and Xbox was one of the most intense arguments that Ford and Dipper had ever had.

On either side of the computer screens were large vents that cycled air in from the surface, keeping the environment fresh. Beside the vents were large banks of batteries, no doubt purchased with Ford’s leftover grant money. There hadn’t been much left when he had originally been sucked into the portal, but it had been compounding interest for thirty years. There had been more than enough to complete the Shack’s renovations.

In the space between the break room and the semicircle desk were two rows of metal tables. Some of them contained chemistry equipment; others held jars of samples preserved in formaldehyde. Almost each table had a wired connection to the computer system, integrating and processing all of the data as soon as it was collected.

Ford stood at the farthest table on the left, looking over a heavy piece of equipment. He waved Dipper over enthusiastically. Dipper walked slowly, gazing around in amazement. He had never imagined that the place where so much conflict had happened could be turned into a beautiful space like this. He had respected Soos’s handyman skills before, but this was next-level work. If the Mystery Shack ever went out of business, or more likely collapsed for some reason, he could easily be hired as a construction consultant.

Soon, though, Dipper’s focus shifted to the equipment that Ford had found.

It was about the size of a car engine, and appeared to be completely made of titanium. It wasn’t alien in nature, but it certainly looked like it. Two large spheres, made of half-inch-thick glass, sat in sockets on either side. One of them pulsed with a dim orange light, the other one an oceanic blue. In between the spheres was a large bolt that bore fresh scratch marks from having been turned.

Alongside the engine was a handheld remote that Ford had wired to leads he had discovered coming from the back of the device. The remote held a large central button, protected by a plastic cover. Three small screens sat above two small dials, each screen containing a series of green numbers, much like the Weslee. Two of them looked like coordinates, while the other was a much smaller number. The apostrophe at the end of it made Dipper suspect it was a measure of distance.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” said Ford, gently caressing the glass spheres, careful not to damage them in any way. Even if he had tried, though, it would have taken a much stronger force than him to break through the structure.

“What exactly is it?” asked Dipper, picking up the remote. Ford opened his mouth to chastise him, but stopped when he saw how cautious his great-nephew was being to not touch the dials in any way. His expression turned to a smile.

“After a lot of experimentation,” said Ford proudly, building up to a grand reveal, “I believe that it is a teleportation engine.”

“Teleportation?” Dipper asked, astonished. “Even the aliens hadn’t figured out teleportation yet—otherwise, there wouldn’t have been a ship to crash land. No wonder you didn't want to stop by in Piedmont. Something this powerful would change everything!”

"I'm sorry about that," answered Ford. "Stanley really wanted to stop in for a visit, but I couldn't risk letting a volatile device like this into such a populated area. That's also why it took us so long to get home--we couldn't go through the Panama Canal, in case the customs agents searched our ship. We had to loop all the way around Cape Horn."

"For looping all the way around the Americas, you made good time," replied Dipper, gazing into the glowing spheres. "Where did you even find this thing?"

“We stumbled across it almost right after you and Mabel had closed the final portal in Seattle,” replied Ford, sitting on a small metal stool that he pulled out from under the table. “Of course, this wasn’t the only thing we found.”

“But you were in the middle of the ocean!” exclaimed Dipper. “Surely you didn’t fish this out of the water?”

“Not quite,” chuckled Ford. “We started on a heading south as soon as we talked from Mt. Rainier. But the winter was quickly coming, and icebergs started closing in around us. We got trapped in the middle of a towering ice floe, and couldn’t move without risking the Stan of War II getting crushed. Eventually, we were able to take advantage of a strong gale to intentionally ground the ship on top of the floe. We were stuck, but we were safe.”

“Did you have enough supplies to last up there? I mean, you obviously got free,” stuttered Dipper, “because you’re here. But what happened?”

“Let me tell the story,” said Ford, continuing to smile. “Once we were on the iceberg, I stayed with the ship to track the satellite readings about the ice movements to find an optimal time to break free. Stanley, though, took off walking across the ice to explore. He was gone for about an hour before he came back running, telling me that he found something big.” Dipper’s eyes grew wide.

“He couldn’t tell what it was because it was encased in the ice, but thankfully I had some ice picks and flamethrowers on board. We siphoned some gasoline from the ship’s engine to power them, and started burning a staircase down through the ice. After about twenty feet, we finally got down to it—it was a massive boat.”

“Like the _Stan of War II_?” asked Dipper, astonished.

“Much bigger,” said Ford, shaking his head. “Think a Navy destroyer. Hundreds of feet long, and solid metal.”

“That was a huge iceberg,” commented Dipper. “How could a ship get trapped in one like that? It’s not natural.”

“It’s certainly not natural,” said Ford, gesturing to the engine on the table. “We were able to burn our way to an entry hatch, and then climb inside. Thankfully, there was no ice in there.”

“Were there people?” Dipper asked.

“None alive,” Ford grimaced. “They looked like they had all been mummified. Perfectly preserved by the cold, lack of predators, and airflow. We went back and anchored our ship to the ice as best we could, and then returned to the ship and started to explore. Stanley went to the cargo hold, while I headed for the captain’s quarters.

“I was lucky enough to find the ship’s log, which told us everything we needed to know. The name of the ship was the _Borealis_ , and it had been built specifically to test long-range and large-scale non-localized teleportation equipment.”

“Who built it?” Dipper wondered aloud.

“I’m not sure,” answered Ford sadly. “Any logos that had been on the ship had long since corroded away, and the captain had scratched out every mention of the company’s name in his log before he succumbed to suffocation like the rest of the crew. Whoever they were, they were clearly led by either a crackpot or a genius.”

“You don’t think Bill had anything to do with it, did you?” asked Dipper, trying to cover as many bases as he could.

“I don’t believe so, no,” responded Ford. “The last entry in the captain’s log dated it to the 1970’s, so it’s not a recent incident. Plus, if I know anything about Bill, he would have made them build the engine in the shape of a triangle.”

“That’s a relief, at least,” said Dipper, glancing at Ford’s eyes, which met his in agreement. “So the ship wound up in the ice because of a teleportation accident?” he theorized.

“That’s my suspicion,” said Ford, standing back up and walking over to the engine. “It clearly wasn’t ready to be tested, so I don’t know why it activated. But, once it did, there was no going back. This used to be the control remote,” he said, holding up a lump of charred metal that was all but unrecognizable. “It was destroyed during the process, and they didn’t have the supplies on board to rebuild it.”

“There was no way out of the ice,” sighed Dipper, sadly.

“There was not,” Ford confirmed. “After finding out what had happened, I met up with Stanley in the hold, where he had discovered the engine itself. Thankfully, he didn’t touch it before I got there, since it was still open.”

“Open?” asked Dipper, looking for the slightest hole on the engine. It appeared to be entirely self-contained.

“Yes,” said Ford, gesturing at the large bolt that sat between the two glass orbs. “You control the latitude and longitude of your destination by inputting the numbers on the remote. Thankfully, the effects of the engine appear to be localized to the Earth, so we don’t have to worry about teleporting off-planet.

“However, you control the amount of material to be teleported by loosening and tightening this bolt. The looser it is, the more energy that flows between the two spheres. The center number on the remote shows the distance away from the engine that it will affect—for instance, a reading of five would teleport everything within a five foot radius, including the engine itself, to the specified destination. Still, the energy will only start to flow once the central button on the remote is pressed. If the bolt were ever fully removed, I’m not sure what would happen. Whatever it might be, I don’t want to find out.”

“And what exactly is in the spheres?” asked Dipper, gingerly setting down the remote.

“That’s what I’m stuck on,” said Ford, making sure that the bolt was tightened all the way, wanting to avoid a mishap. “I’ll need your help to figure it out. I’ve already started to scan the device to get some schematics, but this truly is a mystery. If we can figure this out, we can wire it into the _Stan of War II_ , and we won’t have to worry about travel time any more—we can even bring the ship up the Gravity Falls Lake, and avoid having to drive from Reedsport anymore.”

“I can’t wait,” said Dipper, grinning eagerly as he looked around the room. In all of his amateur research, he had never had a laboratory nearly as well equipped as this one. “I can start tomorrow if you like.”

“That would be wonderful, my boy,” said Ford, clapping him on the shoulder. “But as for now, you’ve had a long drive, and you need to get some rest. We have a full day tomorrow.” As soon as he had said this, the two of them heard Mabel’s voice echoing through the vents, reaching them from ground level.

“Pacifica!” she shouted, “You’re here!” Dipper’s face fell.

“Shit,” he mumbled to himself, unhappily. “Grunkle Ford, I forgot something. I had promised Pacifica that I’d take her to explore Crash Site Omega tomorrow. But,” he started fumbling his words. “I’m sure that I can put it off for a few days! I mean, if we explain to her how important this is, I’m sure that she’ll understand.”

“Dipper,” said Ford, smiling, “it’s fine. Trust me, I’m almost seventy years old, so I know what I’m talking about. Spending time with the ones you love is far more important than any scientific work that you and I can do together. Besides, if there’s a snowstorm moving in tomorrow like the weird rat-man on the radio said, you may not be able to visit Omega later. But you will be able to stay in and help me.”

“You’re right,” sighed Dipper, looking at Ford sheepishly. “I just got a little excited.”

“It’s exciting work!” replied Ford, acknowledging Dipper as they started to walk together back to the elevator. “But, if you want to help me during your own personal adventure, I could use some wiring from the alien ship’s control panels. I suspect that the reason the remote on the teleportation engine got fried was because the engineers miscalculated the amount of energy that would be produced. Alien tech should solve that problem.”

“That, we can do,” answered Dipper as Ford flipped the lights off and they began the ride up to the main floor. They stepped out into the gift shop and closed the vending machine behind them—just because everyone knew about it now didn’t mean that it was okay to just leave the door open. As they walked through the swinging doors into the main living room, the doorbell rang. Mabel flew across the room to answer it, almost colliding with the two of them.

“Sorry!” she shouted back at them as she flung the door open, revealing Candy and Grenda, and the minivan they had come in parked next to Pacifica’s Tesla. Grenda was the only one who had her license, Candy having been too nervous to get hers immediately once she turned sixteen. Even with her license, though, Grenda was relegated to driving her mother’s old vehicle.

“Mabel!” they both shouted in unison as they wrapped her up in a hug. Despite having spent more time apart than together over the past few years, they had always kept in contact through phone calls and texting.

Grenda hadn’t changed much at all—she was slightly taller, but no less astonishingly strong. She had a little more of a figure, and now wore her hair in a short bob instead of a ponytail.

Candy, however, had grown immensely—she was now taller than Mabel, and had her jet-black hair lashed back into a flowing ponytail with multiple ties. Due to her slim stature, she seemed to have developed more than Grenda, even though she hadn’t. The illusion was helped along by her tight-cut shirt, lined with horizontal stripes, and dark, slim cut jeans. What had changed was her facial structure—she still wore thin-rimmed glasses, but had prominent cheekbones highlighted by blush and a sharp chin.

It was enough to cause Dipper to pause for a moment—he was more surprised than he was attracted to her. Candy, thankfully, didn’t notice, being occupied by Mabel—she and Dipper had never flirted after their road trip, and he didn’t want to accidentally make things complicated with Pacifica if he could help it.

With the three of them catching up in the hallway, Dipper followed Ford into the main room, where he found Stan, Soos, Melody, and Pacifica sitting at the table and holding cards, surrounded by a pile of poker chips. Soos and Melody didn’t appear to be paying that much attention, while Stan looked furious with an ever-diminishing pile of blue and red chips. Pacifica betrayed no emotion, leaning easily back in her chair with a mountain of green and orange in front of her, along with a single black. Dipper wasn’t sure of the exact chip values, but he had a suspicion that Pacifica was winning.

She had changed out of her work uniform, and instead wore a pair of soft shoes and black socks, along with comfortably fitting pale blue jeans. She wore a gray t-shirt that complimented her figure even more than Candy’s did hers—though Pacifica did have more to work with. She was also wearing a bright pink outdoor jacket, likely for her trip with Dipper tomorrow. Beside her sat a small bag containing pajamas and toiletries—she had only planned to stay for one night, so she had limited what she brought. Her expression brightened as she saw Dipper enter the room.

“Come and watch this,” she said, gesturing to Dipper and Ford with a flip of her hair. “I’m kicking your uncle’s butt at poker.”

“I know you’re hiding some aces, Northwest,” glowered Stan accusingly. “I’m just trying to figure out where.”

“Surely a con man as good as you could figure it out where I was hiding something,” fired back Pacifica. “If you can’t, then I must not be hiding anything.”

“I’m not a con man,” bit Stan. “I’m a businessman who simply enjoys delivering people questionably manufactured products at exorbitant prices.”

“Then that’s something that you and us Northwests have in common,” smirked Pacifica. Dipper could see Stan’s expression soften with a grin.

“Dipper,” Stan said as he gathered up the cards from the most recent hand and started to deal out again. “Do you want in on this action?”

“He can play for me,” said Pacifica, surrendering her seat to Dipper as she picked up her bag and went to sit on the couch. “I have a feeling that our sleepover is about to start.”

“You know your cash is forfeit, right?” grinned Stan. “I wouldn’t trust Three-Chest-Hair Pines here to manage your finances.”

“He’s up to five now,” said Pacifica, waving her hand. “And we’re not playing for real money anyway.” Stan looked at him with a sly look as Dipper’s cheeks flared up in a blush. Ford seemed proud as he pulled up a chair to join the table, which made Dipper feel even stranger—he expected Stan to belittle him like that, but not Ford to be so invested in his love life.

“Five what?” said Candy as she walked into the room, Mabel and Grenda following close behind.

Dipper immediately saw Pacifica tense up when she saw Candy—without Mabel, Pacifica never hung out with the other girls, and Candy’s transformation had caught the blonde off-guard as well. Suddenly, her status as Dipper’s most desirable seemed to be threatened, at least based on the external standard of looks.

“Five hands in a row that Soos has won,” said Stan, astonishing Dipper even more. He knew Stan would defend him to the death, but hadn’t expected him to pass up an opportunity to embarrass his great-nephew. Spending time with Ford had apparently mellowed him out. Soos looked around confusedly in response. Stan kicked him under the table.

“Yeah… I’m the go-fish champion!” said Soos, holding his arms in the air in victory as Melody chuckled beside him.

“Are we ready to get this party started?” bellowed Grenda, holding both her and Candy’s bags on her shoulders with ease. Pacifica lifted her bag in response, not speaking a word.

“You know it!” responded Mabel, bounding to the bottom of the stairs, Candy hopping behind her. Waddles started to make his way to the attic, since it took him longer to climb the stairs than everybody else.

“Are you coming?” asked Pacifica, looking back at Dipper pleadingly. She seemed to want reassurance as much as a buffer for the experience that she was about to endure. Dipper started to move to stand up, leaving his hand facedown on the table, but had barely budged an inch when Mabel leapt back into the room and put her hand on Pacifica’s back.

“No he’s not,” said Mabel pointedly, ushering the blonde up the stairs. “He can come up to sleep, but that’s it. We all need to talk about some things.”

Everyone at the table—Stan, Ford, Soos, and Melody—looked at Dipper with a mixture of pity and smugness as he sat back down and picked up his cards. He knew it was useless to argue against Mabel when she was like this. He wanted to help Pacifica through what would no doubt be a thorough haranguing, but this was a rite of passing for complete participation in Mabel’s friendship. Especially when Dipper was so intimately involved.

“Good luck,” said Dipper, waving at the two of them as they made their way up the stairs after Candy and Waddles, Grenda following behind them.

“Eh, don’t worry about it, kid,” said Stan, looking at his hand in disgust before immediately folding. Apparently, it was bad enough that even a master gambler like him couldn’t salvage it. Dipper raised the stakes, only half knowing what he was doing. “Ladies talk about weird personal business all the time. It’s just the natural order of things. The only mistake you made was being part of that personal business.”

“It’s a documented fact that people love to gossip,” said Ford, tossing a few chips on the pile. He was no gambler like Stan, but he had picked up a few practical things from his brother during their months at sea.

“I would yell at you two for being stereotypical,” said Melody, discarding and replacing two cards before raising the stakes yet again. “But you’re absolutely right.” Soos held up his cards for her to inspect—she looked at them and then whispered in his ear. He discarded the ones she pointed to and drew again. After another round of advice, he folded. Stan, having conceded, returned strictly to his role as dealer and revealed the table cards.

“Of course I’m right,” said Stan. “But, so long as Dipper hasn’t done anything too embarrassing, I don’t think they’ll have too much to talk about.”

“Oh, they’ll find something to talk about,” said Melody as play continued. “Anything he did, they’ll talk about it. Doesn’t matter if it’s embarrassing or not.” Dipper blushed—he was absolutely certain that his behavior was being dissected upstairs. It suddenly didn’t seem like Pacifica was the one who was being grilled, but rather like he was sitting outside of a courtroom waiting for a verdict to be handed down.

“Still,” Melody continued, “based on what I know about Dipper, I think he’ll be fine.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” said Dipper, watching as Melody folded, leaving play strictly to him and Ford. Another card was revealed, and the teen and his mentor got into an intense staring match, trying to determine any weaknesses whatsoever that the other was letting slip. Ford had the advantage of years of expertise, being able to control his heart rate and emotions with ease. Dipper had the advantage of not knowing what he was doing, which made his bluffing very effective, since he didn’t know if what he had was good or bad.

They each continued to raise their bets until Ford only had a few chips left. Pacifica had done a great job giving Dipper a very large bank to work with, so he could afford to make a few mistakes. At that point, another card was flipped, and it came time to reveal the hands. Stan was looking over Dipper’s shoulder, it being past the point where Ford could do anything about it, and smiled. Dipper had never shown much aptitude for gambling during their first summer, betting for snacks, but he appeared to have gotten better, or at least gotten extremely lucky.

"Four of a kind,” said Dipper, laying his cards face up on the table, revealing a complete row of eights.

“Full house,” said Ford in mock anger, throwing his down. He had come close to taking the pot, but not quite. Dipper, kind as he was, divided the winnings with Ford so he could keep playing.

“You’re lucky we’re not playing for actual money,” said Stan as he dealt out another hand. When he got to Melody, however, she stood up and stretched.

“I think I’m going to head on to bed,” she said, lifting Soos’s fez off of his head and gently kissing the mop of his brown hair. “I need to rest up for all this Christmas prep. It’s a lot of work.”

“I’ll help you with it!” said Soos, standing up as well.

“Well, I’m not doing the prep work now,” said Melody as Soos interlaced his fingers with hers.

“I was talking about the sleeping,” chuckled Soos, yawning as well.

“You can help with that too,” Melody responded as they walked over to their new bedroom, with the same carved door that had once hidden Ford’s room.

“I’ve got to hand it to him,” said Stan as shuffled the cards back into a deck on the table. “I never thought he’d manage to pull it off like that. She’s a good girl for him.”

“He did better than you, Stanley,” chuckled Ford. “He hasn’t lost her to a hippie like you did Carla.”

“He hasn’t lost her to a hippie, _yet,_ ” corrected Stan. “They sneak up on you when you least expect it.”

“They’re married, Stanley,” said Ford, rolling his eyes.

“Fair enough,” said Stan, leaning back in his chair. “Now we’ve just got to see if Dipper here inherited our luck with women.”

“He’s doing much better than us,” said Ford, laughing. Dipper blushed. “To find someone like the Northwest heiress at sixteen? It’s remarkable. One of the weirder things that I’ve seen, and that’s saying something!”

“They’ve only been together for three months, Sixer,” responded Stan. The older twins seemed to be perfectly content with having a conversation about Dipper’s romances with him sitting right there, not contributing a thing. “Don’t go placing any bets yet.”

“I’m still just impressed that she was able to close that Seattle rift all by herself,” said Ford, getting a far-off look in his eyes as he spoke before shaking himself back to reality. “I know Mabel helped, but it’s still a remarkable feat. And without a functioning glue gun!”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s impressive,” said Stan, cursing to himself as he lost another hand. This time, Ford took the pot. “But she’s still got a lot to make up for. A Northwest doing one good thing doesn’t make up for all the times that they’ve harassed this town and our family.”

“Pacifica isn’t like her parents,” said Dipper, immediately leaping to his girlfriend’s defense. “Just because she’s their kid doesn’t mean that she’s responsible for everything that they’ve done.”

“I know that,” replied Stan. “Believe me, I know that. I’m just talking about all the hell that she put you and your sister through before you two got all kissy-kissy. You may be able to forgive and forget, but I’ve got the memory of an elephant.”

“With dementia,” sniped Ford.

“Point is,” Stan sighed, “I just don’t want to see you getting hurt. I’ve known these Northwests for longer than you have. And if you think that she’s different, then I trust you.”

“I do think that,” replied Dipper. “I’ve seen her through a lot of things, and I do think that she’s different. But even though she’s different, we are still 16. There’s only so much that you can do when you still can’t vote.”

“Or drink,” said Ford. “Not the good stuff, anyway.”

“Pitt’s fine for now,” said Dipper, taking his turn to deal the cards.

“Genuinely, Dipper,” said Ford as he looked at his hand, unable to conceal a slight smile. “She’s something else. I know that I’m an old man, so I don’t want to sound weird when I say this, but I wish that I had known someone like her back in my day.”

“Eh,” grunted Stan, leaning forward in his seat. “Times were different. Even in the seventies, a lot of people didn’t like women getting too uppity and independent. The strong-willed ones were rare.”

“And that’s another reason I like Pacifica,” said Dipper, raising his bet. “She’s still stubborn, even coming from the family that she did. I don’t know if I could have stood up to the same kind of constant pressure.”

“Pressure makes a diamond,” commented Ford, thinking back to high school geology.

“Or an emerald,” Dipper pointed back as Stan cackled, collecting on everyone’s bets. He had had a few bad hands, but was now back to prime form.

“No they don’t,” said Ford, looking at Dipper quizzically. “Emeralds form when the solute-rich water in hydrothermal channels starts to cool and deposits crystals on the channel walls.”

“It was just a metaphor, Grunkle Ford,” sighed Dipper, rolling his eyes.

“It wasn’t a very geologically accurate one,” Ford commented.

“Geology isn’t my specialty,” fired back Dipper.

“Then we need to fix that,” said Ford, smiling. “Half of the weirdness in Gravity Falls can be found in the fossil deposits, and you’ll need to know your rocks for that.”

“Save the nerd talk for another day,” chastised Stan, gesturing at the table. “Deal the cards, Sixer.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to switch to a quick game of _Dungeons, Dungeons, & More Dungeons_?” Ford smirked.

“I’ll stick with the game you can actually make money at,” Stan replied as he picked up his hand. For a split second, an emotion flashed across his eyes, and the house shook like an earthquake had torn through it.

“Damn it!” Grenda’s voice echoed down from the attic as she slammed her fists onto the floor.

“My thoughts exactly,” grunted Stan as he tossed his cards onto the table and immediately folded.


	7. Sleepover

Grenda entered the attic and slammed the door shut behind her with her foot. Pacifica jumped as she did so, frightened. Grenda just chuckled to herself. Pacifica, officially trapped in the space with the three other girls, took the opportunity to look around the room.

She had been in the room several times over the past two years, and it looked just as she remembered it. Dipper’s bed was still clearly on the left, with the painting of a ship hanging over it. He had taken all of his other souvenirs, like the pterodactyl tooth, back to Piedmont with him at the end of the first summer.

The mattress itself was slightly stained. Before the twins had first come up to Gravity Falls, the attic had just been used as for storage. When Grunkle Stan had agreed to let them come for the summer, he had worked with Soos to renovate the space into a bedroom as best he could. Though, to save money, he had gotten the mattress used. Pacifica didn’t think the stains were Dipper’s fault, though she would insist on having sheets on the bed before she would even consider sitting on it.

Mabel’s side was cleaner, if not neater. There was still plenty of glitter and scraps of paper covered with glue stuck in the crevices between the boards, the chest at the foot of the bed sitting open and collecting dust. The bed was far cleaner, Mabel quickly snapping the set of sheets that she had brought onto it. Melody had offered to get linens for the twins, but Mabel had a set of sheets that she preferred to use in the Falls. The message had never made its way to Dipper.

Along the rafters, Soos had wrapped colorful Christmas lights. They twinkled gently, casting the room in a soft and flickering glow. Combined with the dim light of the moon, the room looked as though it were lit by a calm fire. 

There was still plenty of damage evident around the room as well—the triangular window bore scuff marks from being removed and replaced so often. The hole in the roof where the oversized chess piece had gone through was patched, but still obvious. The entire room smelled slightly musty, like a candle needed to be burned in it. Nothing at all like the soft lavender of Pacifica’s room.

The most significant addition to the room was the flat screen television that sat on a table at the near end of the room, facing the beds. It had clearly been a cheap steal for Soos, finding it in a secondhand shop. A large crack ran horizontally across the bottom of the screen, though it appeared that the picture still displayed perfectly. Pacifica was sure that Soos had thoroughly tested it before he had bought it.

“So…” said Pacifica as Mabel flopped down onto her bed, patting her knees as Waddles jumped up to rest on her comfortably. “What exactly do we do now?”

“Start by putting your sleeping bag down,” said Mabel, breathing heavily under Waddles’s weight.

“Unless you want to share a bed with Dipper,” whispered Grenda as softly as she could—still plainly audible to everyone in the room. Candy snickered.

Pacifica could feel her body temperature spike up, and a thin layer of sweat break out on her skin. She had come willingly to this sleepover, wanting to spend time with Mabel and her friends, and she was being mocked for spending time with her boyfriend. She didn’t have to put up with this, after all. She could leave at any time; her fully charged car was sitting right outside.

“Not while we’re all in here together, she won’t,” said Mabel, sitting up and forcing Waddles to the floor, squealing in protest. Mabel had noticed both Pacifica’s silence and the rising pulse of color to her cheeks, and decided to intervene. “And there’s not anything wrong with that anyway. After all, Grenda, don’t try to tell me that you’ve never snuck away into the secret passages of Marius’s castle for a little private time.”

Grenda blushed in response to that—instead of a gentle rosiness to her cheeks, however, almost her entire head immediately turned cherry-red. Everything about her was intense. As she cooled down, she acknowledged her mistake with a nod and apologetic look in Pacifica’s direction. The blonde then looked to Candy for a similar gesture, but got none. Candy was occupied with setting up her sleeping bag.

“It’s just weird because it’s Dipper,” said Mabel, helping Pacifica to unroll her hot pink sleeping bag next to Dipper’s bed, Grenda and Candy’s bags at the foot of the two actual beds. “I’m still having trouble processing it. That Dipper could be attractive to you.”

“Hey,” said Candy, sitting on her sleeping bag and crossing her legs. “He was attractive to me, and that was before he was tall and muscular and scarred.”

“What?” asked Pacifica, astonished. This was the first that she was hearing of this. Candy had a crush on Dipper, and he hadn’t told her about it?

She was going to bring this up during their trip to the alien ship tomorrow, for sure. Even if nothing had happened between them, it was still an important part of his romantic history. She wondered what else he might be hiding, but immediately chased the thoughts from her mind. Dipper wouldn’t lie to her—not intentionally, at least. 

“Oh yeah,” said Mabel, smirking. “That first summer, Candy had a big crush on Dipper. She actually made a move on him, but it didn’t work out.”

“I had a crush on him for like two days,” Candy replied, waving her hand dismissively. “Hey, Mabel, can I set up your Switch?”

“Of course!” said Mabel, gesturing towards the bag sitting on her bed. “Everything should be in there.”

“Wait, we can’t just skip this,” said Pacifica, pulling a pillow from Mabel’s bed and fluffing it before dropping it into place on the floor. “I haven’t heard about this! What happened?”

“I told you,” said Candy, looking at Pacifica confusedly. “We were on a road trip and I had a crush on him for two days. I put my head on his shoulder for about three seconds, but that was it.”

“Even I didn’t like him that first summer!” said Pacifica, astonished. “What made him seem cool to you?”

“He just seemed more charismatic for some reason,” Candy replied, starting the long process of untangling cables. Mabel hadn’t been the neatest packer. “But then we got attacked by some giant spiders and he turned back into a wimp pretty quickly.”

“Huh,” said Pacifica, thinking back to all the times she had been adventuring with Dipper. He hadn’t run from the Northwest Manor ghost, the dyre, or the giant crab, and had even charged towards the portal in Seattle with a badly wounded leg. If anything, he had a problem with charging headfirst into danger _too_ often. “He’s gotten better about that.”

“Slow down, Pacifica,” said Mabel, gesturing for the blonde to sit next to her on the bed. “You said you didn’t like Dipper that first summer, and I think we all know that’s a lie.”

“It’s true!” said Pacifica defensively. She didn’t gain anything from denying it, since she and Dipper were officially together now, but she still felt like she should. She couldn’t seem like she had fallen in love too quickly.

“Maybe at the beginning of the summer,” smirked Mabel, “but definitely not at the end. After your party, you were head over heels for him.”

“I was not!” retorted Pacifica, raising her nose in the air. “Don’t you think that if I had been, I would have done something about it? I’m not just going to let someone I like slip away from me, after all.”

“You gave him your number, though,” Grenda accurately pointed out.

“Well, I did do that,” admitted Pacifica.

“And besides, you had just had your big blowup with your parents. Adding a boyfriend like Dipper to that equation so soon probably wouldn’t have been a good idea,” said Mabel.

“Yeah,” said Candy, plugging in the final cables and detaching the controllers as the cracked screen of the television flared to life. For the most part, the image was perfect. “How did you tell them about that anyway?”

“It wasn’t pretty,” admitted Pacifica, drawing her legs up onto the Mabel’s comforter. “Dipper told them, and then my dad went and punched a moose.”

“Moose are big,” said Grenda, astonished. “Even I would think twice about fighting one of those things.”

“It was stuffed,” Pacifica responded, “which makes it much less impressive.”

“Who wants to play Mario Kart?” asked Candy, holding the two pastel colored controllers up in the air. “Mabel, do you have any extra controllers?”

“Just the ones that came with the Switch,” said Mabel, sadly. “I had another set, but I tried to let Waddles play, and it didn’t end too well. I tried to clean them afterwards, but they were too far gone.” Pacifica shifted away from her slightly in disgust.

“I’ll play you,” said Grenda, holding up a hand as Candy passed her a controller. “And I will destroy you!”

“While they do that,” said Mabel, grunting as she leaned over Pacifica’s lap to grab her bag, “I have a favor to ask.”

“What is it?” Pacifica queried fearfully. Any favor Mabel had to ask of her would likely be dangerous for them both. And it was out of character for Mabel to come to her for help with anything unrelated to high society.

“I need you,” said Mabel, laying a sketchpad and a box of pencils onto Pacifica’s lap, “to teach me how to sketch.”

“What?” asked Pacifica, this time in pure confusion. Mabel was the art guru, after all—Pacifica didn’t know that there was anything she was less than perfect at.

“I… need… you… to… teach… me… how… to… sketch,” said Mabel again, going slowly and enunciating the words carefully, pointing from Pacifica, to herself, and then down to the sketchpad.

“Yes, I understood that part,” said Pacifica, rolling her eyes. “What I meant was _why_ you want me to help you. You’re so good at everything already.”

“Well, you’re right about that,” said Mabel proudly. “But sketching and drawing precisely aren’t exactly my style. And Dipper told me that you’re really good at it.”

“Not only cute and blonde, but an artist too!” said Grenda, leaning to the side as she went around a corner, even though motion controls weren’t active. Pacifica stuck her tongue out at the back of her head, causing Mabel to chuckle.

“Well, I don’t know if I’m that good at it,” said Pacifica. “I’m better than him, but that’s not saying much.”

“He told me that you made some really fancy drawings in his journal,” said Mabel pointedly. “If he let you draw in that thing, then he must really think that you’re worth it.”

“You can be the judge of that yourself,” said Pacifica, hopping off of Mabel’s bed and walking over to her bag as she searched for the journal. Crouching down, she pulled out the llama sweater that Mabel had given her three years ago just before their final assault on the Fearamid.

“My sweater!” exclaimed Mabel happily. “You kept it!” Pacifica unfolded the fabric and held it up, pulling the journal from within the folds and setting it on Mabel’s bed.

“Of course I kept it,” smiled Pacifica. “I used to wear it around the house all the time, though I could obviously never be seen in public with it.”

“Obviously,” sneered Mabel, in a snobbish accent. “You said that you _used_ to wear it? Is something wrong with it?”

“Not really,” said Pacifica as she took off her outer pink jacket and replaced it with the sweater, trying to struggle into it. Thankfully, the fabric was stretchy enough that she could pull her hair through. The rest of her, however, didn’t fit quite so well. The lower hem only came down to her waist, and the sleeves barely met her wrists. The fabric that covered her chest was stretched thin, making it difficult for her to breathe. Her natural growth had strained Mabel’s masterful stitching almost to the breaking point. Even though Pacifica was still quite small, the sweater had been meant for a smaller person still.

“Oh, baby,” said Mabel, helping Pacifica as she struggled to take the sweater back off. “You just let Mabel work on this and it’ll be properly sized and fitted in no time.” Briefly forgetting her art lesson, Mabel delved back into her bag and pulled out her knitting needles and an extra spool of yarn. It wasn’t llama hair, but the color matched, and she would do her best to weave the new strands in where they wouldn’t be noticed.

“At least it makes your boobs look good,” said Grenda, stealing a glance behind her. Candy immediately bent back and kicked her gently. “What?” Grenda asked, offended. “It’s true! Besides, it’s not like Dipper is up here.” Pacifica, blushing furiously, didn’t say anything in response.

“She’s right,” said Mabel, nodding her head as she started to unravel the sweater, looking to start extending it from the middle. “And don’t worry. It’ll still hug your waist when I’m done. If you can believe it, I’ve gotten better at knitting over the past three years.”

“I can’t believe that at all,” said Pacifica finally, picking up the journal sitting beside her and beginning to flip through the pages. “Your skill level couldn’t possible have increased past the sweater-parachute phase.”

“But your sketching skills have clearly gotten a lot better!” said Mabel, looking over at the journal. “Just look at the difference between the early sketches and these later ones. They’re amazing!”

“That’s because the first sketches are Dipper’s,” smirked Pacifica, pausing on the crudely drawn fairies. “The first sketch I had anything to do with was the dyre.”

“Damn it!” shouted Grenda, losing the final race of the grand prix to Candy by a hair. “My hands can’t handle these tiny baby controllers!” She gently set the controller on the ground before slamming her fists into the boards in anger.

“Let’s take a break,” said Candy, placing a hand on Grenda’s shoulder—she was clearly proud of her win, even if she wasn’t explicitly bragging about it. They stood up and walked over to Mabel’s bed, bending over the journal as Mabel’s needles began clacking in earnest.

The sketch of the dyre remained just as gruesome as it had been when Pacifica had first drawn it. The flesh falling away from the back legs of the beast, the head bloodily exposed, surrounded by visceral petals of meat. Despite it being the most horrific page in the book, it was also one that Pacifica spent the most time revisiting, since Dipper had written a message complimenting her fighting skills on it in invisible ink.

Thankfully, none of the other girls in the room had the UV light they needed to read the message. Pacifica understood the appeal of the secret messages a little more now, empathizing with Dipper’s wish to keep things hidden. Not only was it effective, but it felt awesome to be privy to information that no one else even knew was there.

“Wow,” said Candy, reaching out and taking the book from Pacifica’s hands—Pacifica let her take it, though she did wish that she would have asked first. “These sketches are amazing. You actually saw this thing?”

“She didn’t just see it,” said Mabel, grinning. “She kicked its butt.”

“You fought it!” exclaimed Grenda. “My respect for you has grown.”

“Yeah,” said Mabel, talking as Pacifica started lightly blushing yet again. “It was attacking Dipper, and then she just picked it up with her superhuman strength and threw it into another dimension.”

“Come on,” said Grenda, grabbing Pacifica by the hand and yanking her off of the bed, Pacifica unable to even attempt to stop her. “We’re arm wrestling, right now.”

“Come on Grenda,” said Pacifica, rolling her eyes as Grenda planted her elbow on the bedside table. “You know that you’re going to win.” However, Pacifica wrapper her hand in Grenda’s and anchored herself as best she could, knowing that there was no way to get out of the challenge.

“Candy,” said Grenda, looking over at her as Mabel watched in amusement. “Count us down.” Candy pulled out her phone and clicked to the stopwatch.

“Three… two…. one… go!” exclaimed Candy vigorously. Pacifica struggled in vain for about half a second before her hand was slammed down to the wood. She sensed that Grenda could have done it hard enough to seriously hurt her hand, but pulled back at the last second—leaving only a faint red impression.

“0.618 seconds,” Candy read aloud, clearly impressed. “My best is 0.486.”

“And mine is 0.524,” said Mabel, approval in her eyes. “You’re strong.”

“Well,” said Pacifica, grinning, “carrying around all those plates at Greasy’s helps, I suppose.” Then, a thought occurred to her. “Has Dipper ever arm wrestled you?”

“Not since last year,” said Grenda, cracking her knuckles. “He got to 0.314 and said that I broke his hand.”

“Did you actually break his hand?” asked Pacifica, curiously.

“That depends on what your definition of ‘break’ is,” said Candy, smugly. “He could still use his hand afterwards, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I can’t believe you just threw that thing through the air!” said Grenda, clearly impressed. “Even with a score like 0.618, that’s a terrifying monster.”

“It was about to attack Dipper,” Pacifica said, shrugging. “I wasn’t really thinking; I just did it.”

“Like when a baby’s being crushed by a car,” said Mabel, smiling.

“Hey, you helped with defeating that thing too,” said Pacifica, pointing back at Mabel.

“It chased me up a tree,” she responded, shaking her head, “and then I closed the door behind it. You did all the real work.”

“We all worked together,” Pacifica said, earning a nod of approval from Mabel. “And we’re lucky we made it out alive.”

“What about these next two things?” asked Grenda, flipping through the pages.

“The crab and the giant swamp starfish,” said Mabel, not looking at the journal, but remembering all too well the events of that fateful trip.

“The crab wasn’t that big of a deal,” Pacifica answered, pointing to one of its claws. “The only thing that could reach us was its arm, and the rest of it was trapped behind a portal. The starfish, on the other hand…” she continued, hesitantly.

Grenda and Candy gasped in astonishment when they saw the sketch. This had been the first one completely drawn by Pacifica, and it showed—there were no strange proportions or visible traces of lines that had been placed, erased, and then placed again. It almost looked like a printed picture, so precise were the crosshatching and shadows that it seemed to leap off of the page. Its myriad of eyes all pointed in different directions, except for those placed in the foreground, which focused directly onto the face of the reader.

“The starfish was a problem,” Pacifica finished, unsure of how else to phrase it.

“I don’t think even I could take it down,” Grenda admitted shamefully. “How did you do it?”

“She blew it up with a Molotov cocktail,” bragged Mabel, briefly setting down her needles to inspect her work so far—the torso of the sweater had been lengthened, expanded, and contracted in all of the right places. It would have taken a magnifying glass to see where the original threads ended and the new ones began. Flipping the garment over, she started to unravel one of the arms.

“It wasn’t a Molotov,” said Pacifica, flipping back in the journal. She had become familiar enough with the order of the pages to know exactly where certain things were mentioned. Landing on the page with the dyre, she pointed to the description of the red liquid Dipper had captured in a vial. “It was this, whatever it was. Dipper was the one who decided to take a sample of it. I’m glad that he did.”

“So are we,” said Candy, removing the journal from Grenda’s hands, closing it gently, and handing it back to Pacifica, who took it with a small smile. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t have Mabel here to conduct sweater repairs.”

“Or Pacifica to brag about her healthy functioning relationship,” smirked Mabel.

“I don’t brag about him!” Pacifica fired back, pulling her legs back onto the bed and leaning against Waddles. He didn’t squeal, but merely let out a small grunt of acceptance.

“You’re doing better than us, though,” said Mabel sadly. “You and Grenda can gossip about your men all you like. Candy and I will sit over here in the old maid’s corner."

“I’m fine with that, Mabel,” Candy chuckled. “I would rather be an old maid than be stuck in a relationship with a loser like Kevin.”

“Who’s Kevin?” Pacifica asked seductively. She had already interrogated Candy about her previous crush on Dipper; she figured that a little additional pressure couldn’t possibly hurt.

“One of Manly Dan’s kids,” Candy answered, waving her hand dismissively. “The middle one. I thought he was different than his brothers, but it turns out he just wanted to go into the logging business like his dad. Instead of cutting down trees, though, he had the brilliant idea to start pulling them out of the ground to get extra wood.”

“And no one but Grenda is capable of easily pulling a tree out by the roots,” said Grenda, patting Waddles on the head.

“Wendy’s brother?” asked Pacifica, her expression growing paler as she thought about the redhead. She had thought that she would have the entire week together with Dipper, but now it seemed that the older girl would be coming back tomorrow. Both Dipper and Mabel had told her that there was nothing she needed to worry about, but Pacifica couldn’t help but feel a tiny twinge of anxiety whenever her name came up.

“Yeah,” continued Candy, scrolling through her phone to find a picture of her old boyfriend. The gap between his teeth didn’t appear to have shrunk in the slightest. The sides of his head were buzzed close to the scalp, while a flowing shock of red hair came from the top and dropped over his eyes. “I think Wendy wound up inheriting all of the coolness in that gene pool.”

“Of course she did,” mumbled Pacifica to herself. These other girls praised the redhead just as effusively as Dipper did, and it did nothing to make her feel better. If she could genuinely win over people, instead of having to rely on the fear and prestige that her name brought like Pacifica did, then there was no way the blonde could hope to compete.

However, she knew that she had a lead on Wendy when it came to Dipper. Over the past three years, she had spent far more time with Dipper than Wendy had—she had been his first kiss, his first girlfriend, his first… a lot of things. She would just have to try to hold onto her lead until Wendy left town, making sure that she kept a chokehold on the Pines’ overall affection.

“Here,” said Mabel, her knitting needles finally ceasing their clacking as she handed the fully expanded sweater back to Pacifica. Taking it from her, Pacifica slipped it on, her head and hair passing through it just as easily as they had when Mabel had first given it to her. It fit snugly around her chest, but wasn’t tight, the threads pinching in gently around her waist. It amazed her that Mabel could make such precise alterations without taking her measurements. Then again, perhaps Mabel had measured her in her sleep—she would prefer not to find out either way.

“Like a dream,” said Grenda, looking her up and down. Candy shot a snide glance her way. “What?” Grenda asked defensively. “Just because I have a hot Australian boyfriend doesn’t mean that I can’t appreciate a well-fitting sweater. You’re just jealous that none of your clothes fit as well.”

“Well,” said Candy, raising her voice, “it’s not my fault that the only clothes made for girls my height assume that we have C-cups!”

“Candy,” said Mabel, leaning forward and gently scratching her head. “Bring any of your clothes to me and I will do whatever you want me to with them.”

“Thanks, Mabel,” Candy replied, gently moving Mabel’s hand away. “But you’re better with yarn than you are with really small threads. Besides, I can’t keep you here to be my personal seamstress.”

“You can mail all your clothes to me in Piedmont and I’ll send them right back,” pleaded Mabel.

“The postage costs would be way too much,” said Candy, shaking her head. “It’s just something I have to deal with.”

“You think you have it rough?” Grenda laughed. “I’ve complained about clothes so much that Marius offered to buy me a mill, just to have clothes specially made for me.”

“Take him up on it!” said Mabel, enthusiastically. “We can use the mill to make clothes for you, clothes for Candy, and bring my designs to life! It’ll be great!”

“Why didn’t I think of that?!” exclaimed Grenda enthusiastically. “I thought a mill was too much for one person—but for three people, it’s perfectly reasonable! But, it is the middle of the night where Marius is. I'll text him tomorrow."

"Look at that!” said Mabel, smiling broadly. “All of our problems solved in ten minutes! We’ve made some real progress here tonight, girls.”

“Of course,” said Candy, glancing sidelong across the room. “Nothing like money to make it seem like there’s nothing wrong with the world.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Pacifica pointedly, able to see that it was a not-so-subtle dig at her.

“Just that money makes people think differently,” said Candy, shrugging—she made eye contact with Pacifica, and didn’t break it.

Pacifica’s mind started to whir. What was going on here? Why was Candy being so aggressive towards her? It was possible that she still had a bit of a crush on Dipper, even though she had told Pacifica otherwise. No… more likely was that Candy was jealous about Pacifica taking away Mabel’s time. Since Pacifica had entered their circle, and especially since she and Dipper had started to orbit more closely around each other, Mabel had spent less and less time with Candy and Grenda.

Pacifica took a deep breath. Her instinct was to withdraw and lash out at Candy herself, playing the Northwest card just as she had always seen her parents do while growing up. It was incredibly tempting, since it would shut down almost any opposition—Pacifica could see how the allure of being feared had drawn in her ancestors. Being the bigger person and having a calm dialogue didn’t come naturally to her, but she was going to make a conscious effort at it.

“Candy,” said Pacifica, her voice immediately croaking and choking out. “Candy,” she continued, speaking more clearly. “I know that my family is guilty of some horrible things. I know that I myself am guilty of some horrible things, especially towards you, Grenda, and Mabel. But I am genuinely sorry about those things, and believe me when I say that I’m making a conscious effort to try and get better. It’s not easy to burn away the way you’ve been raised.”

Candy’s expression softened, the corners of her mouth turning downwards as she cast her eyes to the floor, not responding.

“Come on Candy,” said Mabel, flipping upside down and dangling her head off of the bed. “You know how tough it was to convince your parents to let you stop going to music camp. And Pacifica’s saved my life more times than she’s threatened it.”

“Thanks?” said Pacifica, questioningly, unsure if Mabel had just insulted or complimented her.

“I know,” said Candy, still not looking up. “Let’s just… Grenda, come on. Let’s play another round of Mario Kart.” Pacifica and Mabel looked over at Grenda, who shrugged and went to sit with Candy in front of the cracked television. 

“Was it something I did?” whispered Pacifica into Mabel’s ear, as quietly as she could. The sounds of the game would likely drown out her speech, but she didn’t want to run any unnecessary risks when it came to having Candy hear her.

“I don’t think so,” responded Mabel confusedly. “I’ll talk to her about it tomorrow. Let’s just focus on the sketching for now. I fixed your sweater, now you have to hold up your end of the deal.”

“Sure,” said Pacifica, looking at the back of Candy’s head. As she picked up the sketchbook and pack of pencils, Candy lost the first race to Grenda by a hair. With a silent motion, Candy whipped her hand back and tore the bands out of her hair. Her ponytail collapsed into a wave of black hair, just as long and silky as Pacifica’s, and far shinier. Pacifica swallowed and shook her head as she turned to Mabel. It would at least be distracting to help her with sketching.

“Where do we start?” asked Mabel eagerly as Pacifica tore a sheet out of the sketchbook and handed it to her, allowing her to follow along with the expert.

“We start by getting some new pencils,” laughed Pacifica. “These are just plain #2 pencils. And those are fine normally, but for proper sketching, you’re going to want pencils with finer graphite. My personal favorites are the Palomino Blackwing 602’s.” As she talked, Pacifica sharpened the simple #2 pencils. “But, since you have to special order them, we’ll make do with these for the time being.”

“Palomino,” said Mabel to herself, making a mental note of the name. “Like the horses?”

“Exactly like the horses,” said Pacifica. “And here’s another tip—if you have lots of different pencils and know what they’re all used for, you can be really impressive when you’re talking about art. You don’t even have to be good at sketching—if you can talk like you know what you’re doing, people will assume that you do.” Mabel started scribbling notes furiously on the page, wanting to save the information for later.

“Don’t take up the entire page,” continued Pacifica, gently stopping Mabel’s tall, looping handwriting before it took up the whole sheet. “We still need room to draw something. Now, since this is your first lesson, I’ll let you pick what it is we draw.”

“The pencils got me thinking about horses,” said Mabel, thoughtfully rubbing her chin with the soft pink eraser. “And horses got me thinking about unicorns.”

“Unicorns it is,” replied Pacifica, grinning. There was one completed sketch of a unicorn in Dipper’s journal, and Pacifica found it hilarious—the eyes were the size of dinner plates, the mane was far too long for a natural animal, and it didn’t seem to have teeth. She assumed that it was just because Dipper was really bad at drawing, and wanted to see how her rendition of a unicorn would stack up against his.

“The most important think in sketching is proportion,” said Pacifica, gently dragging her pencil across the sketch paper and leaving a thin line of color behind. She noticed that the borders of the line were rough and patchy, as a result of the graphite quality. She had some Palominos in her desk at home, but hadn’t brought them. Mabel’s sudden interest in illustration had caught her off guard. The line began to curve, tracing the sinuous arc of what would become the unicorn’s back.

“How’s this?” asked Mabel, holding up her line for Pacifica’s inspection. Pacifica stifled a laugh, not wanting to appear rude.

“It’s not bad,” she finally answered. “But it’s way too big—see?” Pacifica had started to very faintly sketch out where the rest of the animal would go with the current proportions. “The legs go off the page, and the horn reaches into what you wrote at the top of the page before. Going bigger lets you get more detail in there, but keeping things small is helpful for beginners, since there’s less space to make errors in. Besides, sketches are meant to be rough. They help guide the way for later, more precise art.”

Mabel turned the page around and frowned as she saw the changes that Pacifica had made. Realizing that her teacher was correct, she erased the few lines that she had drawn and started fresh. She was just like Dipper in that way—wanting to try over and over again until it was perfect, without starting a new sheet.

The art lesson continued like that, in fits and starts as Pacifica would add to the master sketch and then correct the minor deviations that Mabel’s work showed. Pacifica enjoyed it—her private school art education was finally coming in handy for something, and it was to help her friend learn something that she was curious about. It felt good.

Candy and Grenda made their way through a few more races as the other two girls sketched. Candy, once having dominated Grenda, was having difficulty in keeping pace now. Either she was off of her game, or Grenda’s hands had suddenly become much more adept at manipulating the tiny controllers.

“I think I’m done,” said Mabel proudly, holding up her first sketch. Pacifica took it from her and held it up to the dim light that was mounted on the ceiling, seeing through the paper. She could clearly see the initial marks that Mabel had erased, and how much Mabel had improved in an incredibly short time. The unicorn looked a little wonky, to be sure—its legs were unequal lengths, there was a strange smile on its face, and its horn was strangely stubby. Still, the important shapes of the neck, haunches, and back were all accurate in relation to each other.

“It’s a really good start,” Pacifica praised, sending a smile across Mabel’s face. “I know for sure that it’s better than Dipper’s.” Pacifica flipped the journal back open, thumbing through the pages until she found his amateur sketch of the unicorn.

“That’s actually pretty accurate,” said Mabel, cocking her head to the side.

“What?” asked Pacifica, astonished as she snatched the journal back for a closer look. “No it’s not. Look at this thing. It’s ridiculous.”

“It is ridiculous,” Mabel admitted, pointing across the room to where a scrap of white cloth hung from the wall, pinned in place by a dart. It was pretty crumpled, but it appeared to have once been a unicorn. “But we met unicorns. And that’s actually what they look like.”

“They’re hideous,” said Pacifica, pulling back her upper lip in disgust. It was amusing in a drawing, but in a real creature would be terrifying.

“I think they’re pretty,” responded Mabel, shrugging. “But they are real jerks, so I wouldn’t go trying to be friends with any of them if I could help it.”

“Duly noted,” said Pacifica, yawning as she did so. “You should keep this sketch in a place of honor,” she said, handing the janky unicorn back to Mabel. “Keep it, so you can see how much you progress. For tonight, though, I think that’s enough sketching practice.” As though to agree with her, both Mabel and Grenda proceeded to yawn, Grenda choking slightly as she inhaled a bug.

“Is it time to sleep already?” asked Mabel, looking back at Waddles for confirmation. He didn’t respond, having been soundly snoring for half an hour. “It’s not that late yet.”

“It’s not late,” said Pacifica, yawning again. “But, I’ve been working all day, and you and Dipper drove all the way up from Piedmont. Your body is exhausted, even if you aren’t.”

“Stupid body,” said Mabel, lightly punching herself in the shoulder. “I could probably whip up some Mabel Juice 2.0 if we want to keep the party going.”

“NO!” shouted Grenda, Candy, and Pacifica in unison. They may not have agreed on much, but they at least seemed to agree on the dangerous effects of Mabel Juice.

“Fine,” Mabel rolled her eyes. “Grenda, you can use the bathroom up here. I’ll go downstairs to change.”

Grenda dropped her controller on the ground, somewhat more callously this time, pleased with the improvement in her skills. Mabel grabbed a bundle of cloth from her disheveled suitcase, while Grenda produced a neatly folded stack from her bag. Pacifica suspected that she hadn’t been the one to fold them.

As the two other girls left the room, Pacifica suddenly realized that she had been left alone in the room with Candy. She wasn’t sure if this was something Mabel had intentionally done in order to give them time to themselves to work things out, but the results were still the same. Pacifica sat on Mabel’s bed, looking at the painting of the ship hanging on Dipper’s wall. Candy, sitting on the floor, was staring at the same. Knowing that this would likely be her only opportunity with Candy to talk one-on-one, Pacifica took a deep breath as she prepared to speak.

“I’m sorry,” they both said in unison, perking up as they each looked at each other in surprise. “No, you go first,” they both continued, stammering. Pacifica, growing quiet, instead held up her hand to indicate that Candy ought to speak.

“I’m sorry,” said Candy again. “I shouldn’t have said that. I know that you’re not all bad. You did let us come to your party, after all.”

“I only let you come to the party because I needed to Dipper to catch a ghost,” mumbled Pacifica.

“Yeah,” said Candy, a neutral expression on her face. “But after he got his butt whooped, you were the one who saved all of us. You could have run, but you didn’t. So that’s something.”

“That’s something,” repeated Pacifica, laughing slightly before an awkward silence filled the room again. “For what it’s worth,” she continued, looking over and meeting Candy’s eyes, “I’m sorry too. For what I did three years ago, and what I said tonight. I guess I was just jealous?”

“Jealous?” asked Candy in disbelief. “You’re Pacifica Northwest. What could you possibly have to be jealous about?”

“You,” admitted Pacifica, causing Candy’s jaw to drop even further. “Okay,” Pacifica continued, “maybe it’s not technically jealousy. Just a little nervousness.”

“About me?” asked Candy, bracing herself to become defensive again. It almost sounded as though Candy thought Pacifica was going to attack her.

“Yeah,” laughed Pacifica again. “You and Dipper.”

“Oh,” said Candy, visibly relaxing again. “Nothing to worry about there,” she reassured Pacifica. “Like I said, we were never really a thing.”

“Not back then,” said Pacifica, pointedly. “But if I’m being honest about you, which I am, because I am the expert on such matters—you’ve gotten a lot prettier over the past three years.”

“Really?” Candy blushed, tucking a few stray strands of her jet black hair back behind her ear.

“Really,” emphasized Pacifica. She was learning to not place as much emphasis on society’s standards of beauty, but she was still very good at picking out typically beautiful qualities. “You’ve lost the fat around your cheeks, the glasses are both stylish and classy, your hair is well-maintained, and, despite what clothing manufacturers may say, your body isn’t bad either.” Candy blushed harder.

“Well, I'm not perfect,” she said, glancing down at herself, small bare feet poking out from her jeans. "I think I'm a little jealous of you too. Just... everything about you. The friendships. The makeup. The life. I'm no Northwest."

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” emphasized Pacifica. “There’s a lot of baggage with that.” She paused briefly, unsure of what to say. “I don’t know,” she continued, “I felt threatened. Like you might take Dipper away from me. When I heard that you used to have a crush on him, it kind of pushed me over the edge.”

“What makes you think Dipper would leave you—beautiful, rich, and blonde—for someone like me?” asked Candy curiously.

“I don’t know,” repeated Pacifica. “Guys like Asian girls, don’t they?”

“Wow,” said Candy, a grin spreading across her face. “That’s the most racist thing that anyone’s ever said to me.”

“I’m sorry!” pleaded Pacifica, not wanting to undo all of the progress they had made with one crude remark. “I didn’t mean that.”

“You spend too much time on the internet,” Candy replied, laughing. Pacifica breathed a little easier, since Candy didn’t seem to be bothered by it. “Besides, I’m only half-Korean.”

“Still, I shouldn’t have said that,” reiterated Pacifica.

“It’s fine!” said Candy, standing up and sitting on the bed next to her. “You didn’t mean anything bad by it. You were just asking a question, and there’s nothing wrong with asking questions.”

“I’ve got to ask the question in the right way, though,” Pacifica said, reaching behind her to scratch Waddles, who had continued to nap. Candy did the same.

“You’ll get there,” said Candy. “All is forgiven.”

“But,” she continued, meeting Pacifica’s eyes with a steely gaze. “Do it again, and I will use my naturally awesome karate skills to throw you out of the window.”

Pacifica froze in fear for a brief moment before she could see the twinkle of laughter in Candy’s eyes and the beginnings of a smile spreading across her face. Together, the two girls broke into a laughing fit, just as Mabel and Grenda reentered the room wearing their pajamas.

“You two seem to be getting along much better,” said Mabel happily. Pacifica was now convinced that Mabel had deliberately left the two of them alone. “All it took was a little private time.”

“Whatever,” said Candy as she rolled her eyes, echoing Pacifica’s thoughts perfectly. She walked over to her bag and picked up her pajamas, heading for one of the bathrooms.

“You better change too,” said Mabel, tossing her clothes in the corner instead of in her suitcase. “Unless you want to sleep in the nude.”

“Not while you nitwits are here,” replied Pacifica, flicking Mabel on the forehead. Mabel mockingly frowned and rubbed her head, while Grenda buried her head within her sleeping bag to avoid a similar assault.

Pacifica took her newly repaired sweater off and returned it to her bag, drawing out a set of pajamas—flannel pants and an old hoodie. Having slept in the attic before during a sleepover, she knew that it got awfully drafty, even during hot weather. 

She walked down the upstairs hallway, only to find that Candy had taken the nearest bathroom. She then turned and made her way down to the first level.

As she passed by the living room, she saw Stan, Ford, and Dipper still intensely playing poker. Stan’s face was filled with glee at the mountain of chips in front of him, while both Ford and Dipper’s brows were furrowed in concentration and frustration. Stan had been right about the risks involved with leaving her finances to Dipper. Smiling at how the three men had simply spent the evening together, she decided to rescue her boyfriend before he had to declare bankruptcy.

“Hey Dipper,” she said, causing his head to flash up towards her. Stan’s eyes never left his opponent’s faces, while Ford turned more slowly around in his seat. “I think that we’re all headed to bed if you want to come up.”

“Look at this,” said Stan, patting Dipper vigorously on the back. Dipper immediately held his cards closer to his chest, as Stan would take every opportunity to cheat. “His girlfriend inviting him to bed, with three other girls in the room. A champion!”

“And one of them is my sister,” replied Dipper, rolling his eyes. “So I don’t think anything’s going to be happening.”

“Good idea,” said Ford. “You need your rest for your adventure tomorrow.”

“Hey,” said Stan, looking back over at Dipper. “I thought you hated sleepovers. You almost got eaten by an owl to avoid one before.”

“I don’t mind the sleeping part,” said Dipper, flipping over the final table card of the hand. “It’s everything else that bothers me. But it seems like they’re all shutting down for the night.”

“Are you coming or not?” asked Pacifica, getting tired of standing in the hallway.

“Yeah,” said Dipper, smirking as Stan raised his bet. “Just let me collect on this real quick and I’ll meet you up there.” With that, Dipper threw down his hand and stood up, wrapping his arms around the pot and pulling it towards him as Stan sat there in disbelief.

“Shit!” Stan swore, dropping his cards on the table in disgust.

“Language, Stanley,” Ford cautioned as Dipper smiled like a maniac.

“He’s sixteen, Sixer!” defended Stan. “It ain’t nothing he hasn’t heard before!”

Pacifica rolled her eyes at the older Pines twins as she retreated to the bathroom to change. As she closed and locked the door behind her, she looked in the mirror and thought about how the sleepover had gone.

Overall, she had most certainly had fun. She had taught Mabel how to sketch, at least a little bit. She could wear her llama sweater again, which she hadn’t been able to do for almost a year. And, despite her differences with Candy, she felt that they were in a good place now.

Pacifica spent most of her time outside of the Manor with Dipper and Mabel, so it was easy for her to forget that there were other people she had hurt and needed to prove herself too as well. It was a slow process, but she felt that some progress had been made.

What she was still unsure about was Dipper’s relation to all this. Candy had assured her that she and Dipper had never been a thing, but that was still something Dipper should have told her about. She knew he wouldn’t lie to her maliciously, but it still needed to be discussed. She wasn’t looking forward to that conversation, but she knew that their relationship would be stronger for it at the end. It was important to let the people you love know about your past so there wouldn’t be any surprises.

By that same logic, thought Pacifica, she also needed to tell Dipper about Sam before they ran into each other at the Christmas Eve party. She could easily see things going badly if her parents tried to shame Dipper out of the relationship by comparing him with Sam.

But, that conversation could wait until tomorrow. There would be plenty of time to talk while they were exploring the alien ship. Pacifica was excited—but not so excited that she couldn’t sleep. She was exhausted from a full day’s work, and needed the time to recover. She leaned into the mirror and quickly removed her contacts, blinking as she did so. Sliding her glasses on so that she could see, she glanced back into the mirror to make sure her hair wasn’t too tangled up, and then gathered up her clothes and returned upstairs.

The lights in the living room were now off, and the poker chips had been put away. It seemed that Dipper had already gone upstairs, and the Stans had retired to their respective rooms. As Pacifica thought this, she heard the dull thud of the vending machine closing back into place behind Ford.

Upstairs, the room was quiet as Pacifica pushed the door open. Everyone but Mabel was still awake, scrolling on their phones. Mabel had passed out quickly, snuggled up against the warmth of Waddles.

Dipper sat in his bed, having quickly changed into a t-shirt and gym shorts—the same that he had worn during their trip to Seattle. Pacifica desperately hoped that they had been washed.

Pacifica flipped the lights off, the only source of illumination now coming from the phone screens and the moon shining in through the triangular window. Her bare feet stepped gingerly over Grenda, who laid splayed out on the floor. Candy was closer to the corner, laying on her stomach and peering over the tops of her glasses at her phone screen. Once she reached her sleeping bag, Pacifica crossed her legs and sat down, slipping beneath the nylon cover.

“So,” Dipper whispered down to her, “how was the sleepover?”

“Not bad,” Pacifica responded, reaching up to his level and fumbling to find his hand. Once she did, their fingers interlaced instinctively. “It could have been much worse.”

“That’s good to hear,” replied Dipper. “I don’t know how it compares to being harassed by my uncles all night, though.”

“Oh, they’re just trying to show that they care as best they can. Remember that Ford missed thirty whole years. The times have changed.”

“What’s Stan’s excuse?” Dipper smirked.

“Stan is Stan,” replied Pacifica, shrugging. “And that’s all there is to that.” Suddenly, a thought crossed her mind. “Why does Mabel want to learn how to sketch?” she asked, turning to face Dipper’s bed.

“She didn’t tell you?” asked Dipper, curious.

“We got distracted by unicorns,” Pacifica admitted.

“They are distracting,” nodded Dipper. “But Mabel had to talk to the principle right before we left to come up here. Apparently, one of her sculptures caught the eye of some people from CalArts, and she’s trying to make sure her portfolio is wide enough.”

“CalArts?” asked Pacifica, astonished. “That’s _really_ good. Even with my Northwest money, I don’t know if I could get in there. They seem to care more about talent than the Ivy League does, at least.”

“It surprised me too,” said Dipper, smiling. “But she’s put in the work to get good. I’m happy to see it paying off.”

“So am I,” said Pacifica, squeezing Dipper’s hand before a puzzled expression crossed her face. Now able to see under his bed, she noticed a small red fire extinguisher that had rolled beneath the frame. “Why do you have a fire extinguisher up here?” she asked up at him.

“Oh,” said Dipper, briefly crinkling his brow as he tried to remember what she was talking about. “Our second summer here, Mabel decided that it’d be a good idea to try her hand at gunpowder art. You know, where you arrange the powder on paper and light it up? It burns a picture—it’s actually pretty cool.”

“I’ve seen it before,” said Pacifica, yawning. “Pretentious art like that is popular on Instagram.”

“Yeah, well,” chuckled Dipper. “Needless to say, it didn’t go well. So now I have this extinguisher up here, just in case it happens again.”

“Good thinking,” murmured Pacifica, her eyes slowly drooping shut. “You live in a wood hut, after all.” Dipper smirked back at her casual, playful insult. “But I’m tired now.”

“Let’s go to sleep, then,” replied Dipper, clicking his phone off and plugging it up before sitting it on his bedside table. Pacifica reached into her pocket to grab her phone and passed it up to Dipper, who plugged it in as well.

“You two can share the bed,” said Candy, smirking from across the room. They were the last three awake, Grenda’s thunderous snoring having begun to echo through the night. “I won’t tell.”

“Thanks for the offer, Candy,” said Dipper before Pacifica had a chance to speak. “But I think we’ll keep things separate for now.”

“Suit yourself,” said Candy, shrugging as she removed her glasses and turned to face the wall.

Pacifica wasn’t sure what to make of that comment—in all likelihood, it was just Candy poking fun at them, though it could have been belittling. What she was more confused by was Dipper’s response—turning down the opportunity to snuggle with her. She didn’t like that, though she understood Dipper’s desire for privacy. They were still sixteen, after all, and if any detailed descriptions of what they did made it back to either of their parents, the consequences likely wouldn’t be pretty. Still, she would never have turned down an opportunity to burrow into his arms and drink him in.

“You okay, Paz?” Dipper asked, bending over to look into her eyes, noticing her troubled expression in the pale moonlight, no longer green.

“Yeah,” said Pacifica, shaking her head. “I’m fine. Just thinking about tomorrow.”

“You’re going to love it,” said Dipper enthusiastically. “Omega is beautiful and massive—you’ll wonder how no one ever managed to notice it before Ford did.”

“Yeah,” said Pacifica quietly. “The ship will be beautiful, I’m sure.” It was not the ship itself that worried her.

“Let’s get some sleep then,” whispered Dipper, gently leaning forward to kiss Pacifica. She pushed back into him to return the kiss, confident that no one else in the room was watching—except perhaps Waddles, who opened an eye and squealed in a way that almost seemed like laughter. It was a good kiss—they had gotten better at it—but it didn’t hold as much passion as the ones back in Astoria had. Though, perhaps that was just a function of location.

As their lips parted, Pacifica leaned back onto her pillow, spreading her hair out around her and staring up at the ceiling. Their fingers were still intertwined. She didn’t say anything, and merely lay there until Dipper’s light snoring joined the chorus of Grenda’s.

A few minutes later, Dipper’s grip loosened in his sleep, and Pacifica’s hand fell down to the cushioning of her sleeping bag with a light thud. 


	8. Harbinger

“Don’t die!” said Mabel cheerily as she slammed the door behind Dipper and Pacifica. Standing on the front porch of the Mystery Shack, they looked at each other as they heard the rattling of pans from inside. “I’m okay!” Mabel shouted a moment later.

It was early in the morning, the sun barely peeking out from the behind the treetops. Already the air was heavy and damp, oppressive with the heat and humidity. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, making Toby’s prediction of a snowstorm seem more unlikely than ever.

After the members of the sleepover had woken up with the rising sun, Mabel had quickly ushered them all downstairs for breakfast, which she insisted on preparing herself. It was surprisingly edible, considering the amount of glitter that had mysteriously made its way into the eggs. She only got slightly burned due to grease splatter when she was making the bacon, which she was careful to do outside of Waddles’s line of sight.

Everyone in the Shack had eaten together, split between the kitchen table and living room. With Soos, Melody, Ford, Stan, Dipper, Pacifica, Mabel, Candy, Grenda, and Waddles, there simply wasn’t that much room in the building.

Perhaps that was why Mabel was so eager to turn Dipper and Pacifica out on their adventure to Crash Site Omega—though, more likely, she just wanted to give the two of them some time alone. For an extrovert who thrived on company, she was surprisingly prescient at knowing when people needed privacy.

“So…” said Dipper slowly, turning to face Pacifica. “Are we doing this thing?”

Pacifica’s pink jacket, which she had brought for this trip, was tucked into her pack—the day was shaping up to be just as hot as the previous ones. She was wearing long, loose pants, not wanting the grass and brambles to scratch up her legs before the party tomorrow. Accompanying them were white, low-heeled boots with a brand new, rubbery tread. She was wearing an athletic shirt that left her slender white arms exposed, only made whiter by the large amounts of sunscreen that she had lathered onto them. A floppy, wide-brimmed hat sat atop her head, the strap pulled tight beneath her chin. Her hair was tied as loosely as it could be, trying to strike a balance between controllability and proper ventilation.

“We are,” said Pacifica, hopping slightly as she tightened the shoulder straps on her bag. “Do we have to walk the whole way, though?”

“I’m an adventurer!” proclaimed Dipper, proudly, gesturing to the expanse of the forest in front of them. Pacifica felt her heart sink. By the time they got to the ship, she would be far too exhausted to enjoy it.

“But, while I’m an adventurer, I’m not crazy,” said Dipper, smiling as he held up the jangling keys to Francine, relief spreading across Pacifica’s face.

“Good,” said Pacifica as they started towards the truck. “I was worried that you were stupider than I thought you were.”

“And how stupid is that?” grinned Dipper, climbing into the driver’s seat, Pacifica mounting into the passenger’s.

“Stupid enough,” fired back Pacifica, ruffling his hair gently as he took off his ball cap and set it on the dashboard for the drive, rolling the windows down.

Dipper’s concerns about his wardrobe weren’t nearly as complex as Pacifica’s. He was wearing a gray t-shirt that already had the beginning of sweat stains on it, coupled with khaki shorts. It was the first time she had seen him in shorts for quite some time—the interlacing pattern of scars on his calves were still as intricate and horrible as ever.

She gently reached over and placed her hand at his hemline, pulling up his shorts, exposing his left thigh and bringing his calf closer to her. His breath seized as she did this—it wasn’t anything they hadn’t done or felt before, but it was entirely unexpected, especially in plain view of the Mystery Shack windows.

“Don’t get excited,” smirked Pacifica. “I just wanted to see how my handiwork was holding up.” On Dipper’s left calf there was a thin pink line of protruding tissue, only a couple of inches long, but more ragged and gnarled than the other wounds he wore. It marked the place where he had been stabbed by the dyre—and while Pacifica’s stitching had been good, it couldn’t match the work professional doctors had done on his other injuries.

“Pretty good,” said Dipper, uncomfortably—not uncomfortable because Pacifica was touching him, but because all of the blood was rapidly draining from his brain. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, only partially succeeding. “I haven’t had any problems with walking, running, or climbing. Though, I suppose today will be the first real test of it.”

“Let’s hope it goes well then,” answered Pacifica as she lowered his pant leg and drew her hands back over to herself, buckling into the seat. Dipper inserted the keys and the engine roared to life, filling the cabin with the familiar hum that had borne the two of them, plus Mabel, north to Seattle and back again. It was comforting.

As the truck whirred into motion, Dipper urging it out onto the paved road, a thought crossed Pacifica’s mind.

“Hey,” she asked, cautiously. “Did you talk to Ford about filling the toolbox back up with supplies?”

“Well,” replied Dipper sheepishly. “I didn’t really ask him. I just took another magnet gun from his arsenal in the lab. We won’t be needing anything else—there aren’t any rifts to seal with alien adhesive, and knives and electric gloves are useless against anything we might find in the ship.”

“So long as we’re prepared,” said Pacifica, gazing out the windows as the trees flew by. “I still haven’t seen the lab, by the way. Soos never let me in.”

“I’ll show it to you when we get back,” said Dipper, getting more excited by the moment. At first, he had been disappointed that he wouldn’t be working with Ford today, but the prospect of exploring Omega and then returning to lab with his girlfriend was started to grow on him. “It looks much better than it did before Soos renovated it.”

“What does Ford even do down there?” asked Pacifica curiously.

“It depends,” answered Dipper. “A lot of things. Most recently, though, he’s been studying something that he and Stan found out in the middle of the ocean. A teleportation engine.”

“A teleportation engine?” Pacifica replied incredulously. “How do you just find something like that among all that water? And more importantly, how is that even possible?”

“To answer the first question,” said Dipper, “they found it on an old research ship that was frozen in the middle of a giant iceberg. How it got there… other than a teleportation accident, we’re not really sure.

“And as for how it works, we don’t know that either. That’s what we’re trying to figure out. All we know is that it can teleport the engine and a selected amount of material around it to anywhere on the planet in an instant.”

“Including people?” asked Pacifica. She wasn’t a natural businessperson like her parents, but she quickly saw the possibility of displacing the entire transportation industry and making obscene amounts of cash while doing so.

“Including people,” confirmed Dipper. “Of course, it’s too big for one person to carry around. If we were able to figure out the technology, and miniaturize it into some kind of handheld portal device… well, things would be different. I guess I’d have to retire Francine,” he said, gently patting his truck on the dashboard. In the three months that he had owned the truck, he had grown incredibly fond of her—despite one of the hubcaps randomly falling off somewhere back in California.

“Whenever you do decide to retire Francine,” said Pacifica, “let me know and I’ll give you my Tesla referral code. If I can sell Teslas to 50 people, I get a free roadster.”

“Isn’t that just a pyramid scheme?” asked Dipper incredulously, glancing out his window at a log cabin they passed on their right. Pacifica, seeing him become distracted, looked at the cabin as well.

It wasn’t laid out as a normal cabin was, with four simple walls, but rather appeared to be a full-sized ranch house, complete with log garage. A silver truck sat pulled off the side of the driveway, allowing the garage door to strangely swing outwards. Within the garage, taking up almost all of the headspace, was Manly Dan—from this distance, only identifiable by his tremendous stature and the red patches of hair that covered his entire upper body.

“Not technically,” replied Pacifica, glancing her nails. “Besides, if your company’s big enough, it kind of becomes legitimate.” When Dipper didn’t respond to her pointed comment about corporate structure, she became even more curious. “Whose house is that?”

“Oh,” said Dipper, drawing his attention back to the road. “It’s Wendy’s. Or, er… it’s her dad’s. That’s where she lives. When she’s in town, anyway.”

“Well, it wouldn’t make much sense for her to live somewhere else, would it?” smirked Pacifica at Dipper’s blush. He no longer had a crush on Wendy, but he at least had the self-awareness to recognize that his fascination with her could be taken the wrong way. “Anyway,” continued Pacifica, rescuing him from his awkwardness, “how far is it to the ship?

“Not too much further,” answered Dipper, leaning forward over the steering wheel. “The Corduroys actually have the closest house to the entry point. Soon, we’ll be far as Francine can take us. We’ll have to walk the rest of the way.”

As he rounded a corner, turning the truck due east, road signs began to appear in the trees. They weren’t official government signs, having been hand painted by Blubs and Durland. They seemed to show a man diving off of a cliff into a pit of lions, along with an upside down car hurtling through the air. The most baffling one was simply a stop sign, which had the word ‘stop’ painted over it again in large, neon green block letters.

”What’s happening here?” asked Dipper confusedly. “I have no idea what these are supposed to be saying.” Pacifica, looking up at the sun rising directly in front of them, suddenly realized which road they were on.

“It’s a sinkhole in the road,” she said, matter-of-factly. There wasn’t much else she needed to add.

“Sinkhole?” asked Dipper, more confused than ever.

“Oh,” answered Pacifica, glancing off into the trees. “I guess you didn’t hear about that. Remember that earthquake last week?”

“Of course,” said Dipper, a bloom of relief spreading over his face as he saw the dirt side road that they needed to turn onto—it was on this side of the sinkhole. “You said nothing happened because of it.”

“Well, nothing did, directly,” Pacifica continued. “But a few days later, this sinkhole opened up and they haven’t been able to fill it since. All of the eastern traffic into the valley has been cut off ever since.”

“Huh,” said Dipper, glancing in the direction of the sinkhole as they turned off of it. “That may be something worth checking out.”

“After the ship, though?” asked Pacifica, pouting.

“Of course,” reassured Dipper. “A hole in the ground really has nothing on an alien spaceship.”

“Good,” smiled Pacifica. “I’ve been looking forward to this.” As she spoke, the truck bounced over a vicious bump, throwing her into the air and choking her with her seatbelt. “Blech!” she gasped out. “This I could do without, though.”

“Don’t worry,” chuckled Dipper. “We’re about as far as Francine can take us anyway.” Ahead of them on the dirt road, an avalanche of rocks had tumbled down, blocking their path. Blubs and Durland had loosely hung up some caution tape, warning people not to play around the rocks, but that was it—since no one ever used the road, there was really no need to have a removal crew get to work.

Dipper pulled Francine over into a small clearing, positioning her as best he could in between the trees so that maximum shade would be covering her, hopefully staying cool for their return. Dipper donned his hat as they both stepped out into the forest. Suddenly, Dipper heard Pacifica scream.

“Paz!” he shouted, vaulting over the back of the truck to reach her as quickly as he could. Her hands were flailing in the air; Dipper grabbed them and lifted her up into the bed of the truck with sheer upper body strength. She clung to him as he did so, her breathing shaky. Dipper looked over the edge to see what had attacked her, but didn’t spot anything out of the ordinary.

“Paz, what was it?” he asked as she attempted to compose herself.

“Nothing,” she said, clearly embarrassed. “I just stepped in a hole.”

“It’s fine!” said Dipper, reassuring her that her fright was natural. “What matters is that you’re safe. Now, show me the hole so I can fill it in and this doesn’t happen again.”

Pacifica glanced over the edge of the truck, scanning the grass until she saw a hollow patch, darker than the rest. She pointed at it, and Dipper gently lowered himself down onto the earth next to it. He hadn’t noticed it at first glance because it was so small, but it was indeed there. He brushed the grass aside and peered down into it, but couldn’t immediately spot the bottom.

Pacifica watched as he walked over to one of the trees with low hanging branches, snapping off a dead stick about four feet long. The sweat on his arms glistened as he reached up—even dead wood took effort to break.

He returned to the hole and, aiming the stick as though it was a dart, dropped it into the hole. He stepped back in shock as the branch sank completely into the ground, and kept on going. A few seconds later, he heard a distant ‘thunk.’

“Well,” he said to Pacifica as he reached into his pocket for a pen and started chewing on it. “That’s disconcerting.”

“What is it?” she asked, going to the back of the truck and gingerly stepping down, going to stand next to Dipper and never taking her eyes off the hole.

“It appears to be a hole,” replied Dipper, prompting Pacifica to smack the back of his head lightly. Dipper smiled as he readjusted his cap. “Just a really deep one. There has to be a bottom to it somewhere, though—there’s only the one bottomless pit, after all.”

“Could they be multiplying?” asked Pacifica, shifting her weight from leg to leg, worried about one spontaneously opening beneath them.

“I doubt it,” replied Dipper, crouching down and beginning to pull the grass from the ground. “That’s not really how the pit works.”

“Do you know how the pit works?” asked Pacifica, narrowing her eyes.

“Better than the teleportation engine, at least,” answered Dipper. “Still, this shouldn’t worry us that much.” The patch of ground around the hole was now pure dirt, making its presence clearly visible. “We’ll come back and investigate it later with Ford.”

“McGucket probably has a camera we could send down into it,” added Pacifica, causing Dipper to smile.

“Good thinking,” he praised her, Pacifica smiling as well. “Everything is worth investigating. For now, though, lets stick to the alien ship.” With that, Dipper launched himself back into the back of the truck and made his way to the toolbox.

He went through the lengthy process of opening it, ensuring that no one but he could access it. Reaching inside, he pulled out two magnet guns—one scuffed and marked with scratches and char, which he kept for himself. The other was shiny and new, which he handed to Pacifica. Next, he grabbed three flashlights—one for each of them, plus a backup. These would be all that they needed for their exploration, since the ship was relatively safe and sterile.

“Well,” Dipper said as he closed the box and hopped back to the ground. “Are you ready?”

“As I can be,” replied Pacifica, tucking her gear into her bag until they got to the ship.

“It’s not a long walk, said Dipper, leading the way through the trees towards a small hill in the distance. “And once we get there, it’ll be cool inside.”

“Finally,” grinned Pacifica, walking alongside him. “I’ve had just about enough of this December heat.”

The path ahead of them quickly became overgrown with ferns and grasses, the decaying leaves of the previous autumn cushioning their feet. After the incident with the hole next to the truck, they paid very close attention to where they stepped. Soon, the redwoods and firs of the forest began to give way to birch and maple, thinning out as they approached the clearing.

Pacifica stumbled briefly over a root, Dipper’s arm shooting out to catch her before she fell. She grabbed onto his sleeve and held on, giving him an apologetic glance as he smiled back at her. Instead of removing her hand, she instead dragged it down his arm and attempted to hold his hand.

They had only gone a few steps like this, however, before Dipper let go. The humidity was making the stickiness of their skin unbearable, and he needed the full range of his arms in order to balance on the rough terrain. Pacifica let go unwillingly and started to trail a few steps behind him.

She was unsure of how she should bring up the subject of Candy and Dipper’s past. If she brought it up now, she risked tainting their entire day if he told Pacifica something that she would rather not know. Or, he could say nothing wrong, and their day would be the better for it, since the weight of all the unpleasant possibilities would no longer be on her mind. Either way, it was a risk that Pacifica needed to take.

Soon, the weight of her anticipation became too much to bear. She had to know what he was going to say, one way or the other. Knowing something, even if it was bad, would be better than not knowing anything and having her imagination fill in all the sordid gaps. She opened her mouth to speak, but froze as Dipper knelt down and held up a finger to silence her.

“Another hole?” she whispered as she came up next to him, trying to see what he was observing so closely. Her heart began to beat faster when she saw not a hole, but instead a massive hoofprint. Far bigger than any horse or deer she had ever seen.

“Nope,” said Dipper, standing up and puffing out his chest, glancing around through the trees. Soon, he saw what he was looking for—two trees that had been scratched and pushed apart, broken and battered. He started to slowly make his way over to them.

“Dipper!” whispered Pacifica violently. “What are you doing?!? What if it’s another dyre? A bigger one?” She didn’t have a handy trench coat or electric gloves to help her out this time.

“It’s not,” said Dipper confidently. “That’s not what dyre tracks look like. I recognize these.” As he spoke, a thundering sound began to echo through the forest—massive footfalls, one after the other.

“What the hell are you doing?!?” asked Pacifica again, louder this time as the impacts began to grow closer to them—whatever was making them was coming their way. Dipper remained stoic, standing in between the trees as Pacifica hid between a pair of roots.

She considered leaping out and tackling him to the ground, and was tensing her muscles to do so—but before she could move a muscle, the thuds began to intensify, coming more rapidly as the creature started to charge. In a flash, a giant brown monster blasted through the trees, sidelining Dipper and pinning him to the ground.

Pacifica reacted out of instinct, flexing her legs and screaming as she pushed off from the trunk of the tree, launching herself onto the furry mass. She didn’t have her knife, only able to scrabble at the thick hide of the creature with her nails. The monster shook like a dog, trying to throw her off, and choking Pacifica as a cloud of musk that smelled strangely like Axe body spray discharged from the creature’s fur. She couldn’t see Dipper, but he was no doubt pinned beneath the monster’s enormous weight.

Suddenly, Pacifica stopped as she felt the bulk underneath her start to shake with laughter. She cocked her head and listened in disbelief as she heard the treble of Dipper’s laughter mixed in among the creature’s bass.

“Destructor!” she heard a voice say as the monster beneath her shifted and stood up on its hind legs. Now, she wasn’t clinging to its fur in anger, but rather to keep from falling off. “It’s been a long time since you’ve dropped by the man cave. We thought you had left to travel the wilderness and spread your seeds!”

“It’s good to see you too, Chutzpar,” said Dipper, patting the creature on the snout. “Still as strong as ever, I see.”

“Stronger!” replied Chutzpar, flexing his muscles powerfully. Pacifica felt them ripple under his skin, and even she couldn’t deny their impressiveness. “I just bench pressed a train. It’s a new record!”

“Where’d you get a train?” asked Dipper, curious.

“Eh, it was just sitting in the junkyard,” Chutzpar replied. “It was old, rusted, and busted. No one was using it. We found it on our recent supply run.”

“Supply run?” Dipper wondered. “Since when do you guys go on supply runs? Don’t you just live off the land like real men?”

“Not for fo…” Chutzpar began before stopping. “Hey, Destructor,” he continued as he reached around to his back. Pacifica yelped as she felt his massive fingers pinch the back of her shirt and lift her up, leaving her stomach exposed as she dangled in the air. Thankfully, he wasn’t holding her by her neck or hair. “Is this yours?”

“Uh…” said Dipper, quickly looking back and forth between Chutzpar and Pacifica. Chutzpar had a serious look on his face, but quickly lost focus when a squirrel ran through the branches overhead, restoring his previous vacant expression. The manotaurs, at least, were easily distracted. Pacifica, however, had her eyes spread wide in both fear and disbelief at Dipper’s hesitancy in how to answer the question.

“Yes,” proclaimed Dipper loudly—he knew that it was imperative to be loud and confident when dealing with manotaurs. “She is mine. So please put her down.”

“She’s not the girl you’re usually with,” replied Chutzpar, dropping Pacifica with a yelp. Her knees buckled underneath her when she hit the ground, leaving her sitting on the ground in a cloud of dust. Dipper rushed over to her and extended a hand, helping her stand up and brushing her off. As he did this, Pacifica looked back over her shoulder at the manotaur.

She recognized them from Dipper’s journal, but this was her first time seeing one up close. Much like the unicorns, they lost some of their appeal in reality. Standing ten feet tall on cloven hooves, he was covered in bulging muscles and a single loincloth—Pacifica was quite grateful for the loincloth. A constant aura of flies buzzed around his head, which was covered with a raggedy red cap. Horns larger than any bull she had seen sprouted from his temples—it was a wonder that Dipper had survived the impact, even if it had just been in fun.

She was more concerned with the manotaur, but Chutzpar’s mention of another girl also put her on edge. She was going to ask for more details about her, but Dipper beat her to it.

“Other girl?” Dipper asked, apparently just as confused as Pacifica, placing her at ease. “What other girl?”

“She looks like you,” Chutzpar continued. “Brown hair, metal teeth, gives off real Alpha energy.”

“Oh, Mabel,” said Pacifica and Dipper at the same time. It made sense that Chutzpar had seen them together on one of their many adventures through the woods.

“She’s my sister,” Dipper clarified, Chutzpar nodding his head in understanding.

“If that one’s your sister,” Chutzpar questioned, bending over and getting in Pacifica’s face, pointing a fat finger at her. Pacifica stood her ground, though recoiled slightly when she smelled the hot blast of his breath. “Then who’s this?”

“This is my girlfriend, Pacifica Northwest,” said Dipper, wrapping Pacifica’s hand in his. He hadn’t held her hand much since he had arrived in Gravity Falls yesterday, but merely feeling him now helped to put her at ease.

Chutzpar’s eyes narrowed in judgement, glancing her up and down. Pacifica leaned back slightly, made uncomfortable by his proximity. Suddenly, he inhaled deeply, pulling Pacifica’s hat off of her head and exposing her hair. Chutzpar laughed and picked it up as gently as he could, leaving two massive sooty fingerprints on its fabric.

“A powerful choice, Destructor!” he congratulated, slapping Dipper on the back and causing him to lurch forward. He dropped Pacifica’s hat back onto her head, leaving her fumbling to catch it. “She smells strongly. She will no doubt bear you many brave children!” Pacifica’s eyes immediately shot to the dirt as blood rushed up into her face, turning her even redder than she already was from her exposure to the sun. Suddenly, the contact between their hands felt charged and clammy, though Dipper’s grip never softened.

“A-an-anyway,” Dipper stammered, trying to regain his momentum, the comment having thrown him for a loop as well. “You said something about a supply run.”

“Yes, Destructor,” replied Chutzpar, his expression growing solemn. He reached behind a tree and produced a large bundle of logs with splintered ends, having broken them off himself. He shouldered the burden with a grunt. “A difficult time is ahead. I am surprised that someone as manly as you has not felt the rumblings, or smelt the change in the air.”

“I’ve only been back in the valley for a day,” said Dipper, trying to reclaim his manliness. “I know a snowstorm is supposed to be coming, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

“It’s more than the snowstorm, Destructor,” said Chutzpar, shaking his head. “And it is coming. You can feel the chill in the air.” Pacifica, despite not having any sleeves, could feel no such chill.

“There’s something underground,” he continued. “It shakes the earth and moves around the valley. And it is only a matter of time before it finds its way to the surface.”

“Like a worm or something?” asked Dipper confusedly.

“Much bigger,” replied Chutzpar. “That’s why I and the other manotaurs have been out gathering supplies. We’re barricading ourselves in the man cave and covering the floor with branches so it can’t hear our footsteps.”

“How can you tell that there’s something down there?” asked Dipper. “There was nothing about feeling tremors during manliness training.”

“The evidence is all around you, Destructor,” said Chutzpar, gesturing to the woods. “The holes that are appearing everywhere in the forest. One of them almost swallowed Beardy whole, but we were able to pull him out.”

“By his beard?” laughed Dipper.

“By his beard,” Chutzpar confirmed, chuckling before a serious expression returned to his face. “I would be careful, Destructor. To protect yourself and those you love. The safest place is outside of the valley.”

“We can’t leave the valley,” chirped Pacifica, trying to be logical. “We’ve got a party tomorrow that we have to go to. And Mabel, and Stan, and everybody is here. The Shack is here, Greasy’s, Lazy Susan… we can’t just leave them,” she stammered, searching her mind for any alternative explanation for the holes. “And there was an earthquake last week,” she continued. “That’s probably what’s causing the holes. The ground is just settling back down.”

“It’s fine to stay,” confirmed Chutzpar. “Real men don’t run from their problems. They face them head on! And,” he said, smiling as he turned around. “If you’ve got the guts to attack a fully-grown manotaur bare-handed, then you’re manly enough to be a satisfactory mate for the Destructor.” Pacifica blushed again, though less this time.

“Are you heading back to the man cave, Chutzpar?” asked Dipper, briefly raising his hand to reach after him.

“That is my place, Destructor,” Chutzpar answered, slightly bowing his head. “I must protect my people, just as you must protect yours. Just try to avoid going underground. And try to be back in your own cave by sundown—once the storm comes, it will be much harder to tell the location of the beast below.”

Dipper said nothing, but instead beat his chest with his fists. Chutzpar turned and did the same, both of them laughing as the manotaur trudged back off into the woods, stopping whenever he saw an ideal branch to break and add to the bundle on his back.

“Ah,” Dipper chuckled, dropping Pacifica’s hand and turning to face her. “He’s a good guy.” He stopped cold as he saw Pacifica’s expression—stern, her arms crossed as she glared at him. The small smudge of white sunscreen on her nose was the only thing humorous about her appearance.

“Who the hell was that?” asked Pacifica sternly.

“Chutzpar,” answered Dipper, walking past her and continuing on to Crash Site Omega as she turned after him in disbelief. “I thought you would have picked up on that.”

“I mean, why didn’t you tell me about him?” asked Pacifica, following him at a distance. “I know you weren’t planning on running into him, but you could have at least warned me before you let him punch you in the face.”

“You can’t show weakness around the manotaurs, Pacifica,” replied Dipper, sighing. “If one of them charges you, you just have to either stand there and take it or charge back.”

“But you still could have told me about it!” Pacifica exclaimed. “It would have been better than letting me think you had just been killed by some kind of cow monster!”

“And you could have told me about the Northwest Christmas Eve party before I came up here instead of just expecting me to go with you,” said Dipper sternly.

“I didn’t think I had to!” shouted Pacifica. “I’m the one taking care of your suit. And it’s Christmas! Surely you want to spend time with me?”

“Of course I do,” replied Dipper, trying to stay calm. “And I am going to go to the party with you. It’s just good to have notice about things. You know that about me.”

“I’m sorry,” said Pacifica, bowing her head. “You’re right. I should have told you further ahead of time. I know my family’s a lot… it takes time to prepare for that.”

“I’m sorry too,” said Dipper, stopping in the center of a field atop a small hill. “It’s not your fault. I can’t expect you to know everything about the weirdness of this valley just because I’ve studied it a lot. It’s just as unfair to you as it is to me.”

“That’s why I want you to teach me,” said Pacifica, reaching back out to take Dipper’s hand. He took hers in response, though they didn’t interlace their fingers. “So we can learn together. Speaking of which, where’s my first lesson? Why have we stopped?”

“We’ve stopped because we’re here,” answered Dipper, pointing down at their feet. Pacifica didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, until Dipper stomped his foot and a hollow metallic thud echoed through the air. Pacifica stepped back in amazement as Dipper bent down and pushed aside a large rock, exposing the abalone gleam of the alien craft.

“Wow,” she breathed as Dipper reached into his small bag and pulled out the magnet gun, the lights on the side pulsing in rhythm as he charged it up. “You kept telling me about this thing, but I was never actually sure you were telling the truth.”

“Ah,” said Dipper as he aimed at the panel. A burst of blue light shot out and covered the panel, which flipped upwards and outwards with a flick of his wrist. “I wish my mind could be where yours is right now, Pacifica. Back when confirmation of extraterrestrials still had that punch.”

“Okay, Ford,” replied Pacifica, rolling her eyes. “You weren’t the one to find it.” She peered over the edge where the panel had been, gazing down into the triangular blackness. Dipper holstered his magnet gun and turned around, placing his feet onto the rungs of the ladder as he prepared to descend into the depths.

“Wait,” said Pacifica, reaching out and grabbing him by the shoulder. “Challah back there just told us that we shouldn’t go underground if we can help it. Are we sure this is a good idea?”

“His name is Chutzpar,” smiled Dipper. “And I’m sure that it’s fine. For one thing, the entire thing is made of really sturdy metal. It would take something a lot stronger than any normal animal to dig through that. And all the aliens have been dead for a long time.”

“Still,” said Pacifica, looking around. With Dipper now half underground, she was the tallest thing in the field. She suddenly felt as though she was being watched. “Those manotaurs don’t seem like they’re the kind of things that get easily spooked. Maybe we should come back another day.”

“This is our last chance to do this, Pacifica,” Dipper said, looking up at her in disbelief. “I might not believe Chutzpar about the giant worm, but I think he’s right about the storm. Between the snow, your party, and everything else, we won’t be able to make it back out here during winter break.”

“Let’s leave it for another break, then,” urged Pacifica, bending down to help Dipper up and out of the craft. “We can go to Greasy’s and get some pancakes. My treat.”

“No, Pacifica,” responded Dipper, steely-eyed. “I promised Ford that we would bring him some wiring from the control panels. We need it to keep working on the teleportation engine, and I’m not going to let him have all the fun.”

“Well,” said Pacifica, looking past Dipper and into the darkness. It was dark, and a drafty breeze was drifting out of the hole, but it didn’t seem particularly dangerous. “How long would that take?”

“Not long,” said Dipper, seeing that he was beginning to win Pacifica over. “Once we get to the bottom of the ladder, probably five minutes. Then we can come right back out and go back to the Shack.”

“Not Greasy’s?” asked Pacifica as she swung her bag to the ground, reaching inside to grab her magnet gun. If she was going to go into the bowels of the metallic craft, she certainly wasn’t going to go in unarmed.

“Not Greasy’s,” confirmed Dipper. She looked into his eyes, and was surprised to see a seductive gleam in them. “Mabel’s out on the town with Candy and Grenda. Stan, Soos, and Melody are probably busy working, and Ford’s in his lab. We can sneak upstairs and do… whatever you want to.”

“That does sound nice,” Pacifica grinned, a blush inching up into her cheeks with a blooming warmth. Ever since the twins had gotten back into down, she had been craving alone time with Dipper, but hadn’t been able to get it. There had always been Mabel or manotaurs. She had planned to make a move while they were in the ship, but Chutzpar’s prophecy had killed the mood for her. “Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But I want you to promise me that we won’t be in the ship for more than twenty minutes.”

“I promise,” said Dipper, pulling himself out of the ship to gently kiss her on the cheek before descending again. “We’ll be back out before you know it. And I’ll even go first, just to make sure everything’s safe.”

“Such a gentleman,” Pacifica smirked as she shouldered her bag. The metallic clang of the ladder rungs echoed within the passageway as Dipper descended beneath her. Turning, she gently placed her foot on the first rung—even though the much bulkier Dipper had gone before her, she was worried that the ladder may spontaneously collapse.

She felt the breeze from beneath tickle her calves as she took the next two rungs. With just her head poking out into the sun, she looked around. Clouds were beginning to appear in the sky, and the trees surrounding the clearing appeared more barren and crooked than before—malicious, and watching. She took a deep breath, and then stepped fully into the darkness.


	9. Crash Site Omega

The air grew colder and colder as they descended into the bowels of the ship, Pacifica going far more slowly than Dipper. She took special care not to step on his fingers, her imagination playing out exactly what his scream would sound like if he let go of the rungs in panic and plummeted into the darkness below.

She could feel the narrow passage around them curving out and away into the darkness, opening up into a massive cavern. She fought the urge to look around her surroundings, keeping her eyes locked onto the rungs in front of her, her feet and arms working in perfect synchronization. Counting her steps as she went, she had gotten to one hundred and forty one before she felt Dipper’s hands around her waist, causing her breath to hitch.

Looking around, she saw the floor only two rungs below her. She dropped the rest of the way, and winced as the impact sent a loud echo throughout the ship. She knew that there wasn’t supposed to be anything alive down here, but all of the assurances in the world did little to assuage her nervousness.

“Just look at this place,” said Dipper, turning and walking to a balcony overlooking the main atrium. Pacifica turned and stood next to him—her breath taken away this time not by panic, but by wonder.

The ship was absolutely massive, the metallic roof above them supported by herculean columns carved with sigils and signs. A few roots and patches of water could be seen on the roof, the earth having eaten into the ship only slightly in the millions of years since it had crashed. The only light came in through the passageway far above, but the reflectivity of the alien metal was great enough that it cast the entire space in a dim glow. At the far end of the room, Pacifica could see long curving walkways that seemed to lead to different levels of the ship.

She looked down at the floor beneath them—it appeared to be covered in a thick layer of dust, with a few trails throughout the room created by Ford and Dipper passing through three years ago. There were no plants this far underground, so there were no cracks in the floor—merely pools of murky, standing water that had dripped in through the top over the years. As Pacifica watched, another drop detached from the roots above and fell into the center of one of the largest pools, sending an echoing splash throughout the ship. The echoes reverberating against each other almost sounded like a massive rubber band.

Amidst the echo, Pacifica thought that she could barely hear a squeak, accompanied by a sharp, metallic rasping. She shook her head in an attempt to calm her imagination.

“How has no one ever found this?” Pacifica asked aloud. “I mean, even with the Blind Eye running around erasing people’s memories, this thing is so big!”

“People don’t dig this far in the woods,” answered Dipper simply. “And those that did probably got taken away by the security system.”

“Security system?” asked Pacifica, panicked. “I thought you said there was nothing alive down here.”

“There’s not,” Dipper replied as he pulled the magnet gun from his bag and checked the charge. “It’s all automated, but I wouldn’t worry about it. After Ford and I triggered it the last time, he made a point of coming down here once more just to make sure everything was deactivated. Just to keep any accidents from happening.”

“Well, that helps,” said Pacifica, pulling out her magnet gun as well. “But you could still get hurt here just from walking around. I mean, how are we even supposed to get down?” The curving walkways that connected the other parts of the ships together didn’t reach up to the balcony they were currently standing on—the empty rivet holes on the wall suggested that the ramps had been torn away in the initial crash.

“You’ve got to jump!” said Dipper happily, looking over Pacifica’s shoulder to check the charge on her magnet gun.

“Jump?!” she asked incredulously. “Nope. No way. You can go down there, and I’ll climb back up to the surface and wait for you there.”

“Come on,” said Dipper whiningly. “It’s easy. All you’ve got to do is use the gun to support your weight on the way down. If you look closely,” he said, pointing at the nearest support column, “you can even see the marks left by Ford coming down here so many times.” If Pacifica squinted, she could barely make out a thin, spiraling line racing around the column.

“I’m sure it’s easy,” she said, placing her magnet gun in Dipper’s hands and walking away.

“Then why won’t you do it?” he asked, incredulous.

“Because easy for you is not easy for me, Dipper,” she said, turning to face him. “I could learn to do it, sure, but asking me to do this is like asking a little kid to dunk a basketball on a full-sized hoop. They’re just not there yet.”

“It’s what Ford did with me,” replied Dipper, stammering.

“Then Ford was wrong!” said Pacifica, throwing her hands in the air. “I didn’t have the best parents by a long shot, but even I know that you don’t just throw a kid in the deep end of the pool. You shouldn’t be using Ford as a metric to judge your life by.”

“But it’s _Ford!_ ” exclaimed Dipper. “He’s the smartest guy I know, he’s had wild adventures all over the place, and he’s still alive.”

“But Ford isn’t you, Dipper,” Pacifica replied, softening her voice and returning to her boyfriend. “You’re Dipper. You talk about your problems and work with people instead of pushing them away. You’re you. You’d think that Challah would have taught you that.”

“Chutzpar,” replied Dipper, unable to stop himself from correcting her. “But… the manotaurs didn’t actually talk about that at all. That was all the Multi-Bear.”

“You get into the weirdest crap,” said Pacifica, reaching up to caress him on the cheek. “Look,” she said, laying her hands on his chest. “I’m fine with learning how to research weirdness, but you need to do that research your way. And I’m telling you that I need to take things slower. Maybe there’s a smaller column?”

“Not up here,” Dipper responded, looking out over the atrium. “This is the only way down. So how about this,” he said, taking off his bookbag and gesturing for Pacifica to hand him hers. Pacifica watched in confusion as he took the straps of the bags and started lashing them together. He then pulled the contraption over himself, one of the bags positioned on the front of his torso.

“You get on my back, and hold on tight,” he said, gesturing behind him. “The packs should hold you in place if you slip. You close your eyes and I’ll get us to the bottom, and then we can go from there.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about me letting go,” said Pacifica as she bent down and shimmied up into the pack. Dipper pulled the straps tight, forcing them together. It was almost as though Pacifica was the big spoon—she would much rather have been in front, but she knew that Dipper needed full mobility of his arms.

In unison, they took four fumbling steps backwards. Pacifica then leapt up, wrapping her legs around Dipper’s waist and pulling her forearms tight against his chest.

“We need Mabel’s pig carrier,” mumbled Dipper to himself as he staggered, trying to get used to her weight.

“Is your girlfriend too fat for you?” snorted Pacifica as Dipper braced himself.

“No,” Dipper responded immediately. “I just don’t want to miss this step. That would be bad.”

“Way to make me feel confident,” murmured Pacifica as she felt Dipper take a deep breath. She closed her eyes and felt him charge forward, each heavy footfall sending a jolt of force up through his body and into hers.

She yelped, unable to help it, as she felt the ground give way beneath them and they started to plummet into the darkness. After falling for a brief moment, though, they slowed dramatically as heard an electric grinding sound in her right ear. Feeling the air move around them as they curved down the pillar, she dared to open her eyes. Her head was tucked over Dipper’s left shoulder, and she loosened her grip slightly to avoid choking him.

Her lips parted in astonishment as she looked at him. She had a perfect view of his face, jawline showing the beginnings of stubble, the lines of his flowing hair silhouetted by the blue sparks given off by the magnet gun. She knew Dipper was an adventurer, but it was easy to forget when they only talked online and he let his nerdy side shine through. Now, however, he seemed as rugged as any man could be. She loved it.

She became so lost in the spectacle that it caught her by surprise when Dipper’s legs hit the ground, his knees buckling and sending them both tumbling to the metal floor. She groaned as Dipper undid the bookbags that kept them attached together, reaching out and taking his hand as he helped her to her feet.

She looked up at the ceiling as she stood, the last blue sparks of the magnet gun illuminating the shadows cast by the columns. In addition to the water dripping from above, it appeared as though one of the pillars in the distance had been slightly warped by the immense pressure.

“You good?” asked Dipper as Pacifica caught her breath, rearranging her hair and securing her hat in place.

“Yeah,” replied Pacifica, shivering. The temperature had fallen dramatically just when they entered the ship—but this far into it, it was only around fifty degrees. She reached into her bag and retrieved her pink jacket, quickly pulling it on and zipping it up. Her pants were long enough to protect her legs, though she could already feel goosebumps running up and down her skin. She wished she had worn longer socks.

Dipper didn’t seem to notice the difference—or, if he did, he wasn’t bothered by it. He pulled out his flashlight and flicked it on, casting the multicolored metal in a fluorescent gleam. The sunlight from the opening above was still slightly reflected down here, but not nearly enough to comfortably see.

Pacifica followed the beam of his light as it flashed around the room. The sigils she had seen on the balcony above had only been the largest ones—in reality, there were small carvings situated over almost every square inch of the paneling. If there had been a purpose for them, she had no idea what they were.

She pulled out her own flashlight, wanting to have a light source independent of Dipper in case things went south. Pulling it out of her bag, however, she fumbled it, sending it falling to the ground with a clatter. A cloud of dust puffed up around it, triggering a coughing fit. The Northwest Mansion was meticulously dusted every two weeks. This place hadn’t been cleaned in at least thirty years, and likely far longer. Dipper glanced back to check on her, but she gestured that she was okay. Clearing her throat, she bent down to retrieve her flashlight. As her hand wrapped around it, though, she took a closer look at some of the tracks in the dust.

Some of the footprints were clearly Dipper’s, the only person who was down here with such narrow shoes. She also quickly identified Ford’s prints—she had never seen the bottom of his shoes, but knew that they had a prominent heel on them. He was also an adventurer, so it made sense that his boots would have a rough tread for grip on uneven surfaces

The third set, however, matched neither. They were a man’s shoes, but they had a far smaller heel than Ford’s. The tread was nonexistent, almost perfectly flat. Unless the aliens had a reserve of bowling shoes somewhere, this was someone else.

“Dipper!” Pacifica whispered to him, gesturing for him to come over quickly. He did so, kneeling down next to her and looking at her discovery. “Whose shoes are these?” she asked simply.

“I… don’t know,” said Dipper glancing around warily. “Those are Ford’s, and these are mine… but I’ve never seen these shoes before. They’re really abnormal, too…”

“We should get out of here,” said Pacifica, her head on a swivel, ears perked for any possible sound that the other person might make—if they were even still here.

“No, wait,” said Dipper, relief blooming across his face. “They’re McGucket’s. Ford brought him down here back in the day. That explains it.”

“Dipper, are you paying attention?” Pacifica asked, astonished. “That was thirty years ago. These prints of yours and Ford’s are from three years ago, and they’re already covered in grime. These are fresh.”

“You’re right,” replied Dipper, shaking his head. “How did I miss that? Maybe I had too much glitter at breakfast.”

“It’ll be fine if we get out now,” said Pacifica. “Whoever it is, we should leave them alone. We should come back with Ford and he’ll help us out.”

“No,” said Dipper, brusquely. “I promised Ford I’d come back with cable, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Are you insane?!?” Pacifica whispered angrily. “Do you know what’s down here? Because I don’t! And if you do, you’re being a real jerk for not telling me!”

“There’s a panel right over here,” said Dipper, gently sidling over to the nearest wall. There was indeed a panel of buttons, arranged in a rectangular shape. Pacifica wasn’t sure what they would have done when the ship was operational, but that didn’t matter—the wiring was all the same, and what counted was how quickly Dipper could get it. He grabbed ahold of his magnet gun and started removing the series of bolts that held the panel in place.

“Look,” he continued, in full view of Pacifica. “You stay there and keep an eye out. I’ll be done in three minutes.” Pacifica stood up fully and braced herself, bouncing on her calves as she turned.

Her eyes darted around the room, scanning the shadows behind the columns for anything that moved or looked vaguely like a person. The gentle echo of a bird’s chip came down from the service, causing her to grind her teeth nervously. She heard Dipper working behind her, catching the bolts that he removed before they hit the ground.

She didn’t understand why he was so insistent on getting these cables. They could wait. They could all come back on another summer’s sunny day and get all the damn cable they wanted. Right now, they were in danger and needed to get out.

Or, maybe they weren’t in danger at all and Pacifica was simply letting her imagination get the better of her. Whoever wandered in here could have wandered back out, or they could be dead somewhere in the ship’s interior. It didn’t matter to her. She kept spinning, kept bouncing, gun at the ready. Still, the atrium appeared silent and still.

She took a deep breath—maybe Dipper was right. Talking would probably help to calm her nerves.

“So,” she began, whispering back to Dipper. Nothing moved, and no sounds were made. “Candy and I were talking last night, and she said that she used to have a crush on you.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dipper laughed to himself. To Pacifica, it seemed as though he wasn’t being quiet enough, though it could simply have been the sound echoing around within the metal hull. “That was a weird road trip.”

“What happened?” continued Pacifica, settling down a little more.

“Nothing much,” answered Dipper as he pulled out the final few bolts. “We all went on a trip to sabotage some of Stan’s competitors, and Candy tried to make a move on me. I told her I wasn’t interested, and that was pretty much that.”

“She said that you seemed more confident than usual,” Pacifica said, prompting him to keep talking. If he had details to spill, it was best that he do it himself.

“That’s just because I was trying out some of Stan’s flirting tips,” Dipper said, ashamed. “I was all broken up about Wendy and he tried to get me to move on by hitting on some girls at tourist attractions and rest stops. Suffice to say, it didn’t work.”

“But nothing happened between you and Candy?” Pacifica asked.

“Nope,” Dipper answered, glancing at her sidelong as he removed the metallic panel and gently set it on the ground. “Any particular reason you’re asking?”

“Not really,” answered Pacifica. “We were just talking about it last night. You and Candy, you and Wendy, you and… these road trip girls.”

“You talked about me a lot, didn’t you?” asked Dipper, smirking. “I expected some gossip, but I didn’t think that I’d be the main topic of conversation.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” responded Pacifica. “You’re a boyfriend, former crush, and twin brother. You come up a lot.”

“Well, to answer your questions,” continued Dipper as he started picking through the tangles of wire to find the ideal ones, “there was nothing between me and Candy, Wendy and I crashed and burned that first summer, and I never talked to any of the road trip girls again.”

“You talk about crashing and burning as though you and Wendy were actually a functioning thing,” replied Pacifica.

“Ouch,” said Dipper, glancing back at her. “Let a little kid have dreams, will you?” He chuckled, which Pacifica didn’t appreciate. “But no, you’re right. We were never actually a thing. You’re my first real girlfriend.”

“Good,” said Pacifica with finality, glad that the burden of worry had been lifted from her shoulders. Mabel had told her this before, but it helped to hear it from Dipper himself, especially in light of the new information about Candy and the road trip.

“And even better,” said Dipper, wrapping his hand around a thick bundle of cables, “I believe that I have what we came here for.” With a swift motion, his arm strained and he ripped the wires loose from the panel, a violent electric hum emanating from the damaged section as sparks arced from between the exposed wires.

The entire atrium erupted into chaos.

Pacifica saw a dark blur flash by her left eye, worming its way up among the top of the support columns. It was far bigger than a normal person, but smaller than a manotaur. It appeared sinuous, almost like a massive snake, though the wet sucking sounds of its feet seemed to indicate otherwise.

She flinched and fired at it with her magnet gun, only to completely miss and have the gun attach to the hull of the ship instead. It yanked her forward, pulled free from her grip, and finally crashed into the wall with a thud—the impact so great that the gun broke with a sharp crack. It plummeted to the floor with a crash as the lights inside it flickered, and finally died. Staggering, she tried to spot the creature again.

She couldn’t see it, but heard the rapid fire cracking impact of flesh on metal as it ascended the ladder to the surface, traveling at a rate of several rungs per second. No man could move that fast.

Dipper charged for her, grabbing her around the waist as he made sure their flashlights were on. He pointed his magnet gun at the ceiling, the cables they had worked so hard to collect scattered carelessly on the floor.

Before he was able to pull the trigger, however, a grinding sound echoed through the ship as the main entrance was covered, plunging the entire atrium into darkness, the only source of light the flashlights that Dipper and Pacifica held. The thin beams were small and impotent against the encroaching blackness.

They were trapped.


	10. Dust

“Okay,” Dipper began, letting go of Pacifica’s waist. “Let me go ahead and admit that you were right.”

“Dipper, I’m not really worried about that,” she replied, pulling her jacket closer around her, spinning and shining her flashlight around the room. “What was that thing?”

“I don’t know,” he said, spinning around more slowly. Not seeing anything, he knelt down and started to gather the wires that he had thrown everywhere in the confusion. Pacifica almost started berating him for his lack of concern for the situation, but took a deep breath and realized that he was probably only doing it to calm himself. It gave him something to focus on. In the silence, she could hear his breath shaking.

She was trembling as well. With the opening above them closed, the darkness quickly became oppressive, and the even lower temperature seemed to be dropping more by the second. Pacifica pulled her left arm into her jacket, holding it more closely against her body, only using her right arm to direct the beam of her flashlight.

“Okay,” Dipper said again as he stood, tucking the cables back into his bag. “Let’s assess the situation. We have three flashlights and one magnet gun.”

“Is that it?” asked Pacifica, her heart sinking. She was certain that Dipper would come up with a plan to get them out, but the more supplies they had, the better the bad situation would be.

“That’s it,” answered Dipper, rapidly patting himself up and down, fumbling in his pack as he looked for anything that could help them. “Wait,” he said, continuing to reach inside the pack as a smile grew across his face. “No it’s not,” he continued. “We’ve got the Weslee.”

Pacifica’s smile joined Dipper in relief as he produced the metallic device from his pack, the green screen blinking on. They couldn’t escape with this, but they could call Ford—and he would rush over there right away to set them free. They would have to huddle together to stay warm, but they would certainly survive. Pacifica started walking around as Dipper tapped on the sturdy keypad, observing their surroundings in the darkness.

The atrium felt very different now that the sunlight had been removed. It almost seemed like a natural cave, the sigils on the wall merely paintings left behind by some ancient civilization. The air grew stiller, and Pacifica suddenly became very aware that they were trespassing in a graveyard. Even if the aliens were all dead, this had once been the site of horrific carnage, now rendered quiet by earth and the slow decay of time. She turned back towards Dipper, only to see his face etched in an angry frown.

“What is it?” she asked, stepping towards him.

“Damn it!” Dipper shouted, causing her to flinch backwards as he flung the Weslee across the room, smashing into a pillar and tumbling to the ground.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, gingerly.

“It’s a satellite phone,” Dipper answered morosely. “And we’re underground. It doesn’t work down here. Cell phones won’t either.” Pacifica’s face fell, matching his.

“Okay, so we’ll need a Plan B,” Pacifica consoled, walking over to the Weslee. It was a hardy piece of equipment, and didn’t seem any the worse for wear after being thrown—there wasn’t even a dent. The device now useless to them, she gently powered it down and tucked it back into Dipper’s pack. “We can do that. We can get out of here.”

She walked in a circle around Dipper again, looking for any small shaft of light that could indicate another access point to the surface. Finding none, and feeling a ball of fear and stress growing in her chest, she turned to her boyfriend in desperation.

“What’s the play then?” Pacifica asked, pleadingly. She didn’t want to put pressure to lead on Dipper, but this was his area of expertise, and she was frightened, cold, and inexperienced. Dipper looked at her—she could see the expression of fear on his face as well—but, seeing her dismay, he quickly steeled his gaze.

“Step one,” he said, pointing in the darkness at the balcony they had entered from—he was pointing in slightly the wrong direction, already beginning to lose his orientation in the darkness. “I’m going to go up there and make sure that we’re really trapped. If that thing just put the panel back, I can use the magnet gun to remove it, and I’ll come back to get you.”

“Why can’t I come with you?” asked Pacifica, hopping more closely next to Dipper, leaving a fresh set of far smaller footprints in the dust beside his, Ford’s, and whoever else had been down here. These prints hadn’t been left by the monster, that was for sure.

“The magnet gun isn’t strong enough to lift both of us up at once,” replied Dipper, holding the gun out for her to observe. “And besides, even if it did, I don’t think I have the grip strength to hold both of us up at once through a single point. Last time, I had duct tape.”

“And you don’t have duct tape now?” asked Pacifica, trying to strike a balance between incredulity, genuineness, and sarcasm.

“It’s in Francine,” responded Dipper, embarrassed. “Along with the trench coats, knives, and a million other things that would be helpful right now. But I thought this was going to be a safe little trip. Shows what I get for thinking anything would be simple. This is what I deserve for not being prepared.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” said Pacifica, pulling him into a hug. Dipper pulled her in close, basking in her warmth. He wouldn’t show it, but the cold was beginning to affect him. She felt his raggedy breathing beneath her arms. “Besides, even if you do deserve it, I don’t. Which means you’ve got to get me out of here.”

“Okay,” said Dipper again. “Okay, okay, okay…” he repeated, stepping away from Pacifica and holding onto the magnet gun. He used the flashlight to aim at the distant balcony and, with as steady a breath as he could manage, pulled the trigger.

A blue beam erupted from the gun, arcing across the room and casting the entire atrium in flickering shadows, the support columns leaving massive swathes of the room obscured in darkness. Using sheer arm strength, Dipper maintained his grip on the gun as it pulled him off of the ground, arcing up and onto the balcony. Pacifica held her breath as he traveled, keeping her flashlight trained on his destination. She only released it when she heard two thuds and the blue light ceased, confirming that he had landed safely.

“I’m going up now!” shouted Dipper from across the atrium. Amplified by the metal, his voice ricocheted around the entire ship until it became thundering, forcing Pacifica to clap her hands over her ears.

“Okay!” she shouted back, more quietly. The echo wasn’t nearly as intense—clearly, Dipper thought that the escaped creature was the only thing in the ship that they needed to worry about. Pacifica wasn’t entirely convinced.

She sat down, leaning up against one of the support columns as she heard Dipper’s feet begin the long, echoing journey up to the surface. The magnet gun was useless for that part—the only solution was simple climbing. She tossed the flashlight back and forth between her hands—for a brief moment, she flicked it off, plunging the entire space into absolute darkness. She had thought it would be prudent to conserve the battery, just in case they wound up being trapped for a while, but her nerves immediately got the better of her as she powered the light back on.

As Dipper climbed the ladder, she had time to think. She had talked to him about his experience with Candy, and thankfully had Candy’s story confirmed—there had been nothing between them, and even if there was, it had been brief, one-sided, and fleeting.

One thing that she had not mentioned, however, was Samuel Southeast and the upcoming Northwest Christmas Eve Party. She wasn’t worried about Sam or Dipper freaking out about the other, but she was worried about how Preston could steer the evening in a volatile direction if she didn’t warn Dipper ahead of time about the adults’ progenic fantasies.

She and Dipper had been arguing far more than usual, she noted. She wasn’t entirely sure why—nothing had changed between them. They were just in a stressful situation, and she was sure that Dipper was still tired from driving yesterday. She was tired herself, and she had only been on a normal work schedule. She still loved him, of course, but the arguments worried her. If they were immediately at each other’s throats whenever the going got rough, just like they had been at the beginning of their first summer together, then what was going to happen when things got much, much worse?

 _Though,_ she thought to herself, _I can’t imagine how things could get much worse than this._

She shivered, her teeth chattering in the darkness. Her window of opportunity to warn Dipper about the party had closed. She couldn’t afford to disturb him even further in this situation, needing his mind to be clear. She wasn’t worried about him going crazy, but she couldn’t let his anxiety get the better of him, and didn’t want to contribute to it. If she was going to tell him, it would have to be after they had successfully escaped from the ship. It also seemed pointless to worry him about something that wouldn’t happen if they wound up dying here.

By now, Dipper’s footfalls were only barely audible across the room, so far were they up the passageway. Pacifica, still slowly scanning the room with her flashlight, pinched herself to make sure that she was still able to feel her extremities. Her brainpower was wasted on worrying about things that she couldn’t control. She needed to take a lesson from Dipper and stress about a problem that she could contribute to solving—in this case, escaping the confines of Omega.

What did she have to work with? They hadn’t even made it out of the main atrium before things had fallen apart. They had moved the rock to come in from the top, descended the ladder, and then jumped with the magnet gun. She knew nothing. Dipper had all the information, and even he seemed at a loss. She buried her face in her knees, drawing them to her chest. Crying wouldn’t solve anything, but she couldn’t stop a raggedy sob from bursting from her chest. This ancient craft could easily become their tomb.

Then, she paused. She blinked, the hot and salty tears dropping onto her pants. She looked up, clearing her vision and pointing her flashlight back at the balcony. That was it—the rock.

The rock had been covering the entry panel when they arrived at the ship. It was impossible to place the rock over the ship from the inside. Therefore, whatever was inside had gotten there some other way. It must have been just waiting here, biding its time until someone would accidentally slip up and let it out. And, if the monster had gotten in another way, then perhaps they could get out that same way—as large as the creature was, two sixteen-year-olds would have no difficulty in following in its path.

Pacifica stood eagerly, staggering as she waited for her blood to catch up with her brain, her vision going fuzzy. As her eyesight returned, she started shining the flashlight around the atrium, looking into the hallways that led away into the darkness. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but realized it as soon as she began coughing, her frantic steps stirring up a cloud of dust.

She started scanning the ground for footprints, looking for the strange slick soles that didn’t belong. The monster and the man were separate, no doubt, but it was as good a place to start as any. She had difficulty spotting the pattern, having been obscured and covered by the frantic shuffling of her and Dipper in the chaos of the minutes before. However, as she heard Dipper’s footsteps begin to return down the ladder, she spotted the pathway leading into a distant corridor.

Keeping her flashlight trained on the chosen corridor, she looked back in the direction of the balcony. The only light emerging from it was small, cold, and flickering—Dipper’s flashlight. If he had been able to remove the metal panel, the entire atrium would be filled with dim sunlight. It looked as though Pacifica’s plan was now the only one on the table.

She stood her ground, waiting for Dipper to descend the final steps. He didn’t say anything, but she watched the gentle bob of his flashlight as it advanced towards the edge of the balcony, and then the blue grinding sparks of the magnet gun as he descended to the lower floor with a thud.

He walked towards her, shaking his head as he did so. The bags under his eyes, already present after a full day’s drive and a long night of playing cards and sleepovers, seemed far darker than they had before. His shoulders were hunched, defeated.

“Clo-closed,” he stammered, his voice a combination of shiver and fright. “Whatever that thing was, it didn’t put the metal panel back. It just slid the rock over it. The gun can’t move that, and I’m not strong enough. Neither of us are.”

“Don’t worry,” said Pacifica, walking over to him and taking her hands in his. Normally warm, they had gone cold, his skin becoming paler as blood drained from his fingertips. “While you were up there, I came up with a plan.” The beam of her flashlight danced across the room, guiding Dipper’s sight towards the distant corridor.

“What’s down there?” asked Dipper, the shine of his light following hers.

“I’m not sure,” she answered as she began to lead the way, still holding Dipper’s hand in hers. “But look at these footprints. They go this way, and we might as well start exploring. Sitting here isn’t going to solve anything.”

“Okay,” Dipper said again, shaking his arms to restore some feeling to them after his long climb. “We’ll explore down there. But let me lead the way.”

“After you,” Pacifica replied, ushering him in front of her. Having a goal had restored some focus to his mind, and she still admired how he wanted to go first to make sure that she was safe, even at the end of his rope as he was.

As they left the atrium, Pacifica could feel the walls narrow in around them, even if she couldn’t see them. The sounds of their footfalls became louder, and the shallow echo of their breathing echoed closely in their ears. Dipper’s feet fell regularly, advancing beside the narrow path of the flat footprints. Try as they might to listen for any other sound, it seemed as though they were absolutely alone.

“So,” whispered Pacifica, trying to take up time as they delved further into the bowels of the ship, further and further underground. The air grew steadily colder, the metal in the walls absorbing any heat that their bodies put out. “What was that thing?”

“I have a guess,” said Dipper, his flashlight searching the walls. The hallway they were in didn’t branch off, and only continued downwards in a gentle slope. “I think it was an alien.”

“But I thought you said that they were all dead?” asked Pacifica, glancing around furtively. If there had been one, there could easily be others.

“That’s what we thought,” said Dipper as they came to a fork in the hallway. The footprints led down the left side of the track—Dipper, however, went right.

“Where are you going?” Pacifica asked, wondering if the stress of being trapped had already started to wear on him.

“Just around this corner,” Dipper said, urging her forward. “Then we’ll come back. I remember there being something around here that I want you to see.” Pacifica glanced down the hallway with the footprints—she supposed that they could come back. As she went to stand next to Dipper, she dragged her foot behind her, leaving a clear trail in the dust that they could follow to get back to the fork.

For a few minutes more, Dipper led the way. They never deviated from the hallway they were in until he turned a corner and a look of joy spread over his face. Pacifica turned as well, and saw them standing before an open door.

“Here it is,” said Dipper, stepping inside of the smaller room. “We think this was probably an alien’s personal chambers. Look at that.” He pointed to the corner, where a futuristic chair sat facing the wall. Pacifica gasped.

In the chair was a pile of bones, clearly not belonging to any species from this earth. A glass helmet sat on the creature’s massive skull, and crumbling strands of tentacles draped from the chair to the floor. Any non-tentacular limbs were short and stubby, and had collapsed along with the rest of the creature.

“So this is an alien?” asked Pacifica, stepping in front of Dipper and shining her flashlight into the helmet. There was no jaw, simply a perfectly circular hole for a mouth, with no teeth to be seen. The braincase was massive, as were the eyes. The skull was almost perfectly preserved, but she still had no idea what this thing would look like with skin on its bones.

“It was, at least,” answered Dipper. “You saw whatever that thing was for longer than I did. Did it look like this?”

“I can’t be sure,” responded Pacifica. “It could have been, but I don’t think something with this body structure could move like that thing did, or climb the ladder so quickly.”

“Okay,” sighed Dipper. “I thought it was worth checking out, at least.”

“I’m not saying that it wasn’t an alien,” Pacifica quickly followed up. “Just that I’m not sure.” She stepped away from the skeleton and stood next to Dipper, both of them quickly walking out of the room. Even though it was dead, it still made them both intensely uncomfortable.

“We’ll keep it as an option, then,” said Dipper as they followed the trail in the dust that Pacifica had made back to their original junction. “As big as this place is, Ford’s map of it is still incomplete. Maybe there was an alien in cryostasis somewhere, and it just now thawed out. That was my thinking, at least.”

“Because of the heat wave?” asked Pacifica. She failed to see how the heat could have penetrated this deeply into the ship.

“Maybe,” answered Dipper, shrugging. “Maybe the earthquake knocked something loose. It could be anything.” By now, they had returned to the original hallway and turned right—the path of the footsteps led down the left hallway, just as they had before. If the man was still in the ship, he hadn’t been this way more than once.

Dipper, his hand still in Pacifica’s, led the way down the other hallway. They were silent as they walked, the only sounds coming from their footsteps and the echoing drip of water back in the main chamber. For a brief moment, his flashlight flickered off—but he quickly hit it with the palm of his hand and restored it to life.

The trail of footsteps led a winding, nonsense path through the corridors of the ship—but as they descended deeper and deeper, they grew fainter and fainter. The layer of dust, built up from years of organic and biological material drifting down from the fractured ceiling in the main atrium, hadn’t penetrated this deeply into the ship. Soon, there was no dust for footprints to be left in.

Dipper started walking faster, pulling Pacifica along behind him. With no footprints to guide them, they followed the hallway they were in until it forked yet again. There, with no clue of where to proceed, Dipper stopped.

Pacifica pulled to a halt behind him, gently placing her hand on his shoulder. They faced a choice—one way could lead them to a passage out, while the other could get them hopelessly lost in the bowels of the ship. And with no dust, or Chipackers to use as breadcrumbs, they couldn’t retrace their steps. Not saying a word, Dipper paced to the side of the hallway and collapsed to the ground, hanging his head low.

Pacifica stood for a moment more, glancing back and forth between the two options before her. As she stood there, she realized that she was exhausted. The effort of wandering the hallways in pure panic and trying to keep her body temperature up had drained her. Deciding that taking a break would be a good decision, she walked over and sat next to Dipper.

He shivered as she drew closer to him, his skin cold and covered in goosebumps. Pacifica unzipped her jacket and, reaching out, pulled his arms close against her torso. There was little that they could do now, but staying warm would help. She considered kissing him—if they were going to die, she wanted to be happy when she did it, but he clearly wasn’t in the mood.

“What now?” Dipper asked her, quietly. She was taken aback—she wasn’t the person who made the plans. Especially not when the stakes were so incredibly high. She truly had no idea what to say.

“Do you have a coin?” she swallowed. Flipping a coin would be as good a method of deciding which hallway to go down as any. That way, if it led to nothing, neither of them could be blamed for it.

“No,” answered Dipper. When he had said that they had nothing earlier, he had genuinely meant it.

“How much battery do the flashlights have?” asked Pacifica, trying to get as much information as she could. As soon as she spoke, Dipper’s light, which had flickered before, finally blinked out.

“Not enough,” Dipper responded. Pacifica pointed her light as Dipper reached into his bag, pulling out the spare flashlight that he had brought. As he flicked it on, he accidentally pointed it into her face. Pacifica winced, but opened her eyes as he moved the light. Then, instantly, he pointed the light back at her.

“What the hell, Dipper?” she asked, lifting her hand to block out the light.

“Pacifica, freeze,” he said, with such a resonant authority that she instantly stopped moving. She thought that maybe there was a spider or face-hugger on her that Dipper was going to brush away, but she felt nothing—only the tickle of some stray hairs dancing across her nose.

When Pacifica reopened her eyes after a moment’s pause, she saw a grin creep across Dipper’s expression as he turned to face the hallways. He leapt up in a moment, pulling Pacifica with him. She yelped as he brusquely yanked her hat off, exposing her loosely lashed hair.

“Take your hairbands out,” commanded Dipper eagerly, his light flashing between the split hallways in front of them.

“Why?” asked Pacifica, curiously as she lifted her hands to comply. As the coils of her blonde locks sprang free from their confinements and cascaded down her back, she wondered why she hadn’t done this before—she felt warmer already.

“Now go stand in the left hallway,” ordered Dipper, not answering her question. She rolled her eyes as she complied, standing there with a sour expression and her hands cocked on her hips. Dipper was clearly excited about something, and wasn’t telling her what. He only got like this when he was investigating something really worthwhile—so, whatever he was thinking, she thought it best not to protest too much and interrupt his train of thought.

She stood there for a moment, feeling nothing at all. Dipper then gestured for her to stand in the right hallway, which she did gingerly. In the same position as before, she stood frozen—then sneezed loudly as a hair tickled her nose.

“Right it is!” joyously proclaimed Dipper as he secured his bag and stepped up to Pacifica, kissing her aggressively before taking her hand and pulling her behind him. She was staggered for a moment, wiping her nose with her sleeve—she was happy about the change in his mood, and the kiss, but she still didn’t know what had caused it.

“Why this way?” she asked again, more insistently this time. They were traveling quickly down the hallway, and wanted to get an answer before they arrived at another fork.

“Your hair!” answered Dipper happily. “This far underground, with the ship sealed as tightly as it was, there’s no air movement down here. Or at least, there shouldn’t be. If there’s a breeze strong enough to blow your hair, then there must be something down this hallway. It might not be a way out, but it’s at least something—and that’s something!”

Pacifica grinned as she followed him, the beams of their flashlights bouncing along with their footsteps. She wouldn’t have thought of checking the wind in a million years—even distracted and distraught, Dipper could see things in a way she had never thought of.

Soon, they came to another fork in the halls, where they repeated the process, this time heading left. Two times more they did this, until they arrived at a triple fork—at this one, the force of the breeze was so strong that they didn’t even need to check her hair, able to simply feel the motion of the air on their skin.

They were now practically sprinting down the hallway, rushing to get to the source of the air. They could feel it coursing around them, promising freedom—then, suddenly, it went dead.

Both of them skidded to a halt, Pacifica colliding into Dipper’s back and causing him to stumble. He turned to face her, distraught. Their flashlights searched the walls around them—there was no tunnel, and no other hallway to explore.

Pacifica glanced back down the way that they had come, and then took a few tentative steps in that direction. The air flared up around her again, her hair waving gently in the breeze. She looked around, but saw no vents—she gestured for Dipper to join her as they searched the walls in confusion.

“Look at this,” said Dipper, astonished as he pointed to a scuff mark on the wall. Stepping back, they began to inspect the entire panel.

It appeared to have been crumpled inwards, a tremendous force from outside attempting to push its way into the craft from underground. Along the sides of the panel, all of the rivets had been snapped loose in their sockets and now lay scattered on the floor. The metal didn’t appear to actually be attached to the wall of the craft, and was simply leaning against the earth beyond it.

Dipper carefully slipped his fingers into the gap between the damaged panel and the one next to it. Pulling outwards, the panel fell down with a tremendous crash, reverberating throughout the entire craft. Pacifica, having covered her eyes to keep debris from getting in them, lowered her arm in astonishment.


	11. Tunnels

Beyond the panel, there should have simply been dirt—hard-packed from the impact of the ship and the tremendous weight of all the earth above it. Instead, however, there was a circular tunnel approximately eight feet tall that vanished away into the darkness.

Her flashlight searched into the gap, trying to spot any creatures lurking in the darkness. This far below ground, however, there were no roots, and no animals in the earth. The only thing in motion was a small drip of water from the periphery of the tunnel, and the steady breeze that blew from somewhere beyond them.

“Come on!” continued Dipper, eagerly stepping into the dark and dank tunnel. Pacifica stood behind him, remaining in the hallway of the craft, hesitant.

“Dipper,” she called after him before he had progressed too far. “Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, eventually Mabel’s going to notice we’re missing and come looking for us. She knows where we are.

“Besides, if there’s a tunnel to the outside, that means that whatever that thing was, it wasn’t actually an alien. There could be more of them.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” responded Dipper, turning and reentering the hallway. “If Chutzpar was right about something under the earth, then this creature has to be it. And we know that it’s outside, so it’s not home right now—which means this is the perfect opportunity to explore its lair. Even if we can’t get out, we can learn something about this monster so we can fight it.”

“What if it came back in another way?” asked Pacifica, turning around nervously as she weighed her options. As much as she didn’t want to penetrate further into the tunnel, the prospect of remaining in the ship didn’t make her feel much better—after all, they hadn’t solved the mystery of who the flat-footed man was.

“Here,” said Dipper, bending down and picking up the rivets that had been shorn off by the force of whatever had broken the panel in. He dropped them into Pacifica’s hands. She turned them, exposing the way the alien metal had bent and cracked against the beast. “Take these, and the magnet gun. You remember the coins Mabel used against the dyre?” Pacifica nodded the affirmative.

“It’s the exact same principle,” continued Dipper, turning back into the tunnel. “If they can take down a demon deer, surely they can hold off whatever this thing is long enough for us to get away—if we need to.”

Pacifica swallowed, and then stepped after him.

The tunnel traveled in a winding line, always in the same general direction. It was perfectly silent, and perfectly monotonous. Since the walls were dirt instead of metal, the sounds that they made were quickly suffocated, the atmosphere in the narrow tunnel far more oppressive than the open space of the alien atrium. Pacifica would much rather have her feet on solid metal than on squishy, yielding earth.

“You know,” she said, more loudly to compensate for the sound-killing dirt. “Llamas are not underground creatures.”

“And neither are pine trees,” fired back Dipper, smirking. “But aren’t llamas supposed to be nature’s greatest warriors? You took on a manotaur bare-handed today. I don’t get why you’re nervous about this.”

“I never really got that llama thing,” smiled Pacifica to herself. “It seemed like someone just threw that together at the last minute.”

“I’m sure the ancient zodiac civilization knew exactly what they were doing,” replied Dipper. “After all, they didn’t have phones or anything distracting back then. They had plenty of time to think about what symbols they wanted to use.”

“You don’t think that hunting for mammoth would be enough of a distraction?” Pacifica asked.

“Not at night,” Dipper responded before growing silent. The floor of the tunnel had started to slope upwards, forcing them to exert extra effort to climb. At least they were traveling back towards the surface.

“And anyway,” continued Pacifica, “I only attacked the manotaur because I wasn’t thinking. That was pure instinct.”

“Pure instinct should have told you to run away,” chuckled Dipper. “You’re tough, but taking on a manotaur mano a mano is almost impossible. They literally have ‘mano’ in the name.”

“Well, thanks,” replied Pacifica, rolling her eyes. “Next time I’ll just let whatever creature it might be take you away to its lair.”

“We just need to have Ford give you a lesson in hand-to-hand combat,” pointed out Dipper, beginning to breathe more heavily. The upward slope of the tunnel, coupled with the poor quality of the air, was making movement more difficult for both of them.

“Wouldn’t Stan be better for that?” asked Pacifica, taking a short break to cough and take a deep breath in an attempt to clear her lungs.

“Take your pick,” said Dipper, as he suddenly stopped. Pacifica almost ran into him again, but quickly stepped to his side and pointed her flashlight into the tunnel in front of them. She didn’t understand why he had stopped.

The tunnel had finally stopped sloping upwards, and was now descending back down. After a few feet, however, it leveled back out onto a much rockier, gravel surface. The rock seemed to be of a cooler color than the warm brown earth that had just been around them, with a thin band of gray concrete separating the two. There were no branches or other paths to choose between—just a change in the substrate.

“What is it?” asked Pacifica, glancing back and forth between the tunnel before them and Dipper’s face. She did a double-take when she saw his face, his eyes conveying a strange mix of panic and horror, though his cheeks and mouth were loosely draped in exhaustion.

“I recognize this place,” Dipper said shakily as he took a step forward, his shoes crunching down onto the gravel. “Get your gun ready.” Pacifica checked the magnet gun, making sure that it was fully charged and ready to be fired. The shorn bolts jangled menacingly in her jacket pockets.

“Where is this?” she asked as Dipper knelt down, gently thumbing through the rocks. She watched in horror as he gently picked up a small scrap of dusty cloth that appeared to have been buried—green plaid, the same pattern that Wendy used to wear all the time.

“This,” said Dipper as he gently folded up the cloth and tucked it into his pocket, “is the bunker. Ford used to have a secret hideout and laboratory out here, but he shut it down after there was an… incident.”

“So we’re safe!” exclaimed Pacifica eagerly. “We can get out through the main entrance here, or we can use some of the equipment to call Ford. Final—” her loud voice was choked out as Dipper rushed up to her, gently placing his finger against her lips. Once he removed it, Pacifica spit and wiped her lips, his finger having been covered by the dust and grime that had been on the cloth.

“No,” responded Dipper, as quietly as he could. “Ford retired this place for a reason. Everything is either broken or deliberately destroyed. The only things left functional were the security room and cryo-tanks. Or at least… they were.”

“Were?” whispered Pacifica, eyes wide with fear. Dipper had once charged a Category 10 ghost. She didn’t know what could make him panic so easily.

“Yeah,” said Dipper, sadly. “The cryo-tanks were left intact because they held a monster. A shapeshifter.”

“Shapeshifter?” replied Pacifica, panicked. “And you think that’s what it was that we saw in the ship?”

“That would explain a lot,” confirmed Dipper as he started to sidle forward, peeking around every corner before stepping into the next tunnel. “The footsteps that didn’t belong to anyone, for instance. And how it was able to climb along both the ceiling of the ship and up the ladder so quickly—all it would have to do was change forms.”

“But how did it get out?” whispered Pacifica, following closely behind him. “I thought you said that it was frozen!”

“It _was_ frozen!” hissed Dipper. “I don’t know how it got out, but that’s what we’re going to investigate.” He knelt down once more, this time picking up a discarded can of beans. “Yeah,” he mumbled to himself. “This is definitely the bunker.” He set the can back down gently.

Pacifica looked at the can as Dipper walked on—it had an old-fashioned looking pilot next to a blimp on the front. They appeared to be very low quality beans.

“If you see that guy,” said Dipper, pointing back to the can, “run. That’s how he tricked me the first time.”

“So, wait,” continued Pacifica, following behind him tentatively. “He turned into the bean mascot?”

“I didn’t know he was the bean mascot at the time,” sighed Dipper, his eyes searching the ceiling. Pipes had started to appear, lining the walls of the tunnels. He lingered on a particularly large one labeled _H 2O _before tearing himself away and moving on. “But yes. All he has to do is see you once, and then he can replicate you perfectly. Everything that he can see, at least.”

“He saw you?” asked Pacifica, taking a step backwards.

“He did,” admitted Dipper. At least he was being honest about it. “So, if he really has escaped, we should probably come up with a code word so we can identify each other. Now that he’s outside, he could theoretically be anyone.”

“Before we do that,” said Pacifica, gently palming one of the rivets. “Why don’t you tell me something about me that only you would know? Just to be sure.”

“Do you not trust me?” asked Dipper incredulously. “We’ve been together all day. We literally saw the shapeshifter run away from us.”

“Yes, but then you climbed up that latter,” Pacifica answered. “And I couldn’t see you then.

“I’ll do the same for you,” she continued. “I know that you like to be prepared. If we take care of this now, then we can trust each other.”

“Fair enough,” said Dipper, eyeing her warily. They trusted each other—and it was for that reason that they mistrusted each other now. “You have a birthmark in the shape of a papaya on your left butt cheek.”

“Well, you didn’t have to get so personal with it,” smiled Pacifica. Even someone who had seen her in a swimsuit wouldn’t know that. Dipper, and possibly her parents, would be the only ones. “And you have a crippling fear of accidentally crashing Francine,” she continued, lowering the magnet gun.

“Try again,” said Dipper, taking a step backwards and bracing himself. “Mabel knows that. And Mabel could tell anyone that, which means that you’re not the only one who knows it.”

“You’re right,” said Pacifica, cocking her head. “How about this… our second night in Astoria, you tried to take off my bra before my shirt.”

“It’d be really weird if the shapeshifter knew that, so I guess it’s you,” said Dipper, visibly relaxing.

“It is,” said Pacifica, grinning. “Unless you’d like to take off my shirt again to check.”

“Not here,” Dipper swallowed.

“Obviously not here,” she snorted. “This is like the least romantic place in all of Gravity Falls. And that’s really saying something.”

“Let’s just focus on getting out of here,” said Dipper, looking at the pipes mounted on the roof of the tunnels.

He turned and started in the direction that the pipe led, Pacifica close on his heels. The cold had made her uncomfortable, and only now, closer to the surface, was she starting to regain some of her former bounciness. After hours of wandering in the dark, the prospect of finally returning to the sunny surface filled her with energy.

Soon, she started to squint as a pale light started to suffuse through the tunnels ahead of them. It wasn’t sunlight, being far too white and clinical, but it was something different. She flicked her flashlight off as her eyes struggled to adjust, her pupils contracting. Dipper clung closely to the walls, still peeking around corners. Even though they had seen the shapeshifter exit through Omega, the possibility of confronting it again somehow, however unlikely, put him on edge.

Suddenly, the tunnel widened around them into a large, almost spherical room. The ceiling arced to thirty feet above them, the space illuminated by long fluorescent lightbulbs that flickered on and off. On the left side of the room was a smaller fortified room, with a solid metal door. In the center of the room was a cage—the bars bent, twisted, and broken. Whatever was inside had badly wanted to get out, and had apparently succeeded.

On the right side of the room were large glass canisters, most of them covered with dust and debris from years of neglect and disuse. One, however, appeared to have been recently broken, the gleaming edges of the shattered glass still glinting in the artificial light. The pipes leading into the canister appeared to be broken, twisted into separation by some tremendous force.

“Yup,” said Dipper, sighing. “I thought as much.”

“No shapeshifter?” asked Pacifica, hoping against hope that he was somehow mistaken.

“No shapeshifter,” confirmed Dipper, pointing at the shattered cryo-tank. “That’s where it was, and now it’s not.”

“But how did it get out?” wondered Pacifica. “If it was supposed to be frozen forever, why did it thaw? Did someone come and let it out?”

“I don’t think so,” said Dipper, walking around the tank, taking special care to avoid stepping on the glass. “It would be weird if someone let it loose and then just kept it locked up in a slightly larger space.”

“But how did these pipes break?” Pacifica asked pointing at the tubes that led to the cryo-tank. “The shapeshifter couldn’t break them from inside the ice.”

“You’re right,” said Dipper, turning to face her. “And actually, it doesn’t make sense that it was able to burrow over to Crash Site Omega either. Look at this,” he said, pointing behind Pacifica. She turned, and saw the tunnel that they had just come through—it was only one of many, all of them connecting and interlacing through the ground like holes in cheese.

“The shapeshifter dug these holes before we discovered him that first summer,” continued Dipper. “But he wasn’t able to get out, because the entire bunker complex is surrounded by a layer of concrete, steel rebar, and bedrock. The only way in or out was through the tree with the control system in it. Now, though, after just having gotten out of the ice, he manages to shatter the stone he wasn’t able to for thirty years? I don’t understand it.”

“Maybe Ford can explain it,” said Pacifica, placing her hands on Dipper’s shoulder. “Right now, though, we need to go ahead and come up with our security word, just in case we run into the shapeshifter again. So, what do you think it should be?”

“Not a word,” said Dipper, only half paying attention as he pointed the flashlight at the ceiling, trying to piece together what could have possibly happened. “It should be a question. Something simple, the kind of thing that you could ask someone in any circumstance and it wouldn’t be suspicious.”

“How about ‘what did you have to drink?’” wondered Pacifica, just saying the first thing that came into her mind. Her parents only allowed her to drink champagne twice a year—once during the summer party, and once at the Christmas Eve party. She wasn’t particularly fond of the flavor, but she loved the smell—and it made her feel so much more adult and independent.

“Fine by me,” replied Dipper, continuing to pace around the tank. “And the answer?”

“Champagne,” answered Pacifica calmly. Dipper clearly wasn’t listening to what she was saying. If she had to answer the question ‘what did you drink’ in front of her parents and she answered champagne, she would be in huge trouble. If Dipper had to do the same, she had no doubt that Preston would take the opportunity to have Blubs and Durland haul him away. The cops were good people, but the lawyers were not.

“That works,” said Dipper, not bothering to think through the consequences, distracted by the tank.

“You’re not even paying attention to me,” accused Pacifica loudly. “This is a serious problem. I don’t want to be hanging out with you and then have you suddenly start trying to eat me.”

“You wouldn’t?” replied Dipper with a smirk.

“Not like that, Dipstick!” she redoubled, shaking her head to clear the sudden blush in her cheeks. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” said Dipper, looking her in the eyes. “And I have been paying attention. The question? ‘What did you drink.’ The answer? ‘Champagne.’ Now come look at this.” Pacifica rolled her eyes and walked over to where he stood, looking in the beam of flashlight at the ceiling.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?” she asked confusedly.

“That’s a big crack,” he said, pointing at a thin seam running the entire length of the room. “And the rocks on either side don’t match up.”

“The earthquake,” said Pacifica, realization dawning on her. “The earthquake last week ruptured the pipes and weakened the concrete and bedrock. Then it was just a matter of time before the ice thawed and that thing found its way out.”

“It probably happened pretty quickly, too,” said Dipper, flicking his flashlight off and holding it by his side. “It was frozen with liquid nitrogen, which evaporates instantly upon contact with air. Once it broke through the glass, all it had to do was start digging.”

“Why didn’t it just go to the surface as soon as it broke through the barrier, though?” wondered Pacifica.

“It doesn’t want to live in the woods,” answered Dipper, walking over to the metal door that led into the observation room. “It wants to sneak in among people, and it was too risky to just come up at some random point in the woods. It only knows how to transform into a few people, and didn’t want to reveal itself by running into itself, or by being someone who was known to be elsewhere.”

“So you think that when it saw us wandering around in Omega, it crawled to the surface and became one of us?” said Pacifica, shivering at the thought.

“Probably me,” Dipper said. “He already knew how to transform into me, and he was probably too far away to get a good look at you in the atrium. He can only replicate things to the degree that he can see their details.”

“So, he could be doing anything up there now,” stated Pacifica, bracing herself for the chaos that was sure to come once they got back to the Shack.

“He’s probably just wandering around,” said Dipper, trying to punch in a code on the entry keypad. “He hasn’t been to the surface in a really long time, so he doesn’t know where anything is. Damn it,” he whispered as the door showed no signs of budging.

“We can’t get out that way?” asked Pacifica, sadly. She had figured as much. After coming as far as they had, it wouldn’t make any sense it their escape would be easy.

“I don’t think so,” Dipper answered. “Besides, even if we got through this door, we’d have to get through the security room, and I… don’t remember the code for that.”

“You have to put in a code to get out?” wondered Pacifica aloud.

“Yeah,” Dipper confirmed morosely. “The room was designed to keep the shapeshifter in, not trespassers out. It’d be dangerous even if I knew the code—it’s not a normal security room.”

“Is it like Indiana Jones?” asked Pacifica, wondering if she could someday see what lay in the other parts of the bunker. She couldn’t now, of course—but perhaps they could revisit the place in happier times, and shut it down for good.

“Basically,” said Dipper, turning back to the other tunnels the shapeshifter had dug. “Fatal if you screw up. But, I think we’ll be able to find another way out.” He started walking towards the tunnels, Pacifica hopping to keep up.

“You want us to go back into the tunnels?” she asked. She felt bad for asking so many questions—she felt as though she wasn’t adding anything to the mission, but Dipper was the one who knew everything about this. She was still just learning.

“I think it’s the way to go,” answered Dipper, looking back at her. “Chutzpar talked about something traveling underground, and there was that mysterious roadway collapse on the eastern side of the valley. Both were probably caused the shapeshifter, looking around for an optimal opportunity to escape to the surface. That means that he was close to ground level—if we get lucky, we may be able to find a spot where we can break through.”

“You expect us to climb a sheer dirt wall?” asked Pacifica incredulously. “Besides the fact that doing that would ruin my nails, I don’t even think that it’s possible.”

“There are ways around that,” said Dipper, taking the magnet gun from Pacifica’s hands and walking back to the forest of cryotubes. Pointing the gun at one of the rusted ones, he grunted as he pulled off a large panel of metal and dropped it to the ground. He tossed the magnet gun to Pacifica, her fumbling to catch it as he picked up the panel and tucked it under his arm. “This should help.”

“Well,” sighed Pacifica, no longer having any objections to his plan. “Which tunnel should we take?”

“Hmm,” Dipper puzzled aloud. “He probably broke through the concrete pad at several different points, so any tunnel may take us to the surface. Still, it seems like the tunnels at the top are as ideal a place to start as any.”

Dipper then tossed the metal panel back onto the ground with a clatter, stepping onto it and beckoning for Pacifica to pass him the magnet gun. Leaving Pacifica off of the panel, he pointed the gun at the metal and pulled the trigger.

A blue beam erupted from the gun and completely enveloped the panel. Dipper shuddered, flexing his knees as he tried to maintain his grip on the gun with both hands. Slowly, the attractive force of the gun began to lift the panel up, and Dipper along with it. Shakily, he rose twenty feet into the air in fits and bursts before falling into one of the top tunnels.

Pacifica remained on the lower level, watching as Dipper dropped the gun and attempted to rub some feeling back into his arms. Once he had restored his strength, he tossed the panel back down with a clatter for her to climb onto.

She didn’t even try to stand on the panel, instead sitting on it and gripping the sides so tightly that the blood drained from her fingertips. Looking up at Dipper, she nodded that she was ready and then closed her eyes as she heard the electric buzz of the magnet gun.

The panel beneath her tremored as she was lifted up into the air, much more smoothly than Dipper had been. She wasn’t sure if that was because he had been both on the panel and controlling it, or if he was simply trying to be gentler with her, but she wasn’t complaining. She didn’t realize that she had been holding her breath until she felt the panel gently lower onto the floor of the upper tunnel, when she took a deep and shuddering gasp.

Opening her eyes, she saw Dipper’s hand extended to help her to her feet. Taking it, she stood up, lifting the scrap metal along with her and tucking it under her arm to be carried.

“That was fun,” she said, catching her breath.

“Let’s just hope we picked the right tunnel,” said Dipper, shining his flashlight into the darkness. As he led the way, Pacifica pulled out her flashlight as well, the white glow of the ruined containment room fading away behind them.

The tunnel traveled straight for a few hundred feet before branching off—one pathway leading upwards, the other descending back into the earth. The decision was simple, as they chose to take the tunnel that would take them closer to the surface.

Pacifica shivered as she shined her light around the walls. They were much closer to ground level now, which meant that dripping wet roots had started to peek through into the tunnel. A pool of stagnant water lay in the dead center of the circular passageway, forcing them to creep closer to the walls, lest they trip and wind up with wet socks.

It had been cold deep underground, but it seemed to be no less chilly up here. Pacifica could see the puffing of both their breaths in the cool air. She would have thought that the heat wave would have at least reached this deep. Perhaps the earthquake had caused a liquid nitrogen leak that had frozen the ground.

At the next juncture, they continued heading upwards. If anything, it seemed to be getting colder the further they ascended. As Pacifica rounded the corner, she tripped on an exposed root and reached out to steady herself, her fingers sinking deeply into the wet earth of the wall.

Once she had regained her footing, she let go of the wall and instantly shrieked, finding a thick earthworm wrapped around her finger. With a quick flick, she flung it against the opposite wall, where it quickly burrowed back into the moist dirt.

“Are you okay?” asked Dipper, quickly turning around to make sure the shapeshifter hadn’t snuck up on them. Thankfully, there was still only the one Pacifica.

“Yeah,” she answered, brushing the dirt from beneath her nails as best she could. She had managed to avoid getting dirty for the majority of their expedition, only to literally trip up at the last moment. Shaking her head, she continued on.

After a few more minutes of walking, she watched in surprise as Dipper flicked off his flashlight and gestured for her to do the same. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, but she soon realized that she could still see, albeit very faintly.

She and Dipper began to gingerly pick their way forward, rounding one more corner and sighing in relief when they saw a thin shaft of sunlight piercing through a hole in the top of the tunnel. The shapeshifter had been this way, and it seemed as though a loose patch of the earth had collapsed behind him when he got too close to the surface.

Pacifica pulled the metal sheet from beneath her arm as Dipper knelt down and picked up a stick in astonishment.

“Do you recognize this?” he asked, waving it in Pacifica’s face.

“Yeah,” she said, playfully batting it away. “It’s a stick.”

“It’s not just a stick,” smiled Dipper. “It’s the same stick I dropped down the hole you stepped in when we first got out of the truck. Which means that Francine should be right… there,” he said, pointing up at the ceiling.

“At least we’ve got a ride,” grinned Pacifica. Finally, they had arrived at the surface. All they had to do was use the panel and magnet gun to dig their way out.

“And it looks like we’ll need one,” said Dipper, pointing at the ground beneath the hole. Though most of it had been dissolved by the water on the tunnel floor, a small pile of white powder approximately two inches tall sat there. Snow.

“Looks like Toby was right about the snowstorm,” said Pacifica as a few more errant flakes drifted down from above. “But it wasn’t supposed to start until later this evening.”

“We must have been underground for longer than we thought,” Dipper answered, clicking his tongue. “Now, we’ve got to get back to the Shack and warn Ford. This shapeshifter thing isn’t a joke.”

“What did you have to drink?” asked Pacifica as she stepped backwards, giving Dipper space as she tossed the panel onto the ground.

“Champagne,” Dipper grinned as he aimed the magnet gun and pulled the trigger. The panel was enveloped in a sizzling blue light as it levitated off of the ground.

Breathing deeply and using all the arm strength that he could muster; Dipper flung the panel at the ceiling with a crack. With a tremendous groan, the dirt began to collapse as he dug their way to the surface, snow and sunlight falling in together. 


	12. Lockdown

A thin wave of powder rushed into the air as Dipper slammed on the brakes, Francine skidding to a halt in front of the Mystery Shack. After he and Pacifica had broken out of the tunnels, they had immediately rushed back to the tourist trap.

Dipper had placed a frantic call on the Weslee to Ford, while Pacifica attempted to get ahold of Mabel on her cell phone. Only Ford picked up, knowing that a call on the Weslee was bound to be urgent—Mabel would likely have answered, but she had a habit of losing her phone.

Dipper’s message had been quick and efficient- ‘The shapeshifter is loose. Get everyone inside and lock the door. Pacifica and I will be there in ten minutes. We’re both clean—you can let us in, but keep _everyone else out.’_

“Understood,” responded Ford promptly. He thankfully knew that Dipper was still himself because the shapeshifter wouldn’t have known the codes needed to place a call on the Weslee—and he trusted Dipper’s judgement on Pacifica. With that, the call had clicked off, and Dipper had returned both hands to the wheel as he guided the truck through rapidly worsening conditions.

While they had been underground, the snowstorm had begun. A gray blanket of angry clouds covered the sky, and flurries of snow drifted down at regular intervals, coming in waves. There were only a few inches on the ground right now, but Toby had called for the storm to last throughout the entire night—they could easily have several feet of snow by the time dawn broke tomorrow.

As the sun set, the temperature rapidly dropped even further, well below freezing. The snow, which at first had melted upon contact with the hot asphalt of the road, now froze in place, creating a thin layer of dangerous black ice. At several places, to preserve speed while keeping traction, Dipper had driven off-road, Francine holding up to the abuse marvelously. Pacifica, hands firmly clenched on her seatbelt and hand grip, had said nothing.

Dipper took a deep breath as they finally arrived at the Shack. From the outside, everything appeared to be normal. The curtains had been drawn, though a friendly glow still shone from within. He could see that chains had been pulled over the main entrance, and a chair propped underneath the doorknob. Based on the shadows he saw moving within, he surmised that everyone had gathered in the living room. A gloved, six-fingered hand pulled the curtain aside and peeked out, Ford’s glasses glinting as he confirmed that it was Dipper and Pacifica who had arrived.

“Okay,” breathed Dipper, trying to remain calm. “We’re safe. We’re back, we’re safe, and we can talk to Ford about what to do.” He reached into his pocket, gingerly feeling the scrap of plaid cloth from Wendy’s old shirt that he had picked up in the bunker. As Pacifica reached out and clicked open her door handle, preparing to step out into the snow, however, he gently placed his hand on her arm.

“Wait,” he said, drawing the cloth out of his pocket. “Pacifica,” he began nervously, “I have a favor to ask.”

“I’m not going to start wearing plaid every day, if that’s your question,” she said, her eyes lightly laughing, trying to ward off her nervousness.

“Well, kind of,” said Dipper, brushing what dust remained on the cloth off of it as best he could. “I want you to put this over your eyes.”

“What?” asked Pacifica, reaching out to take the fabric. She inspected it, but made no move to wrap it around her head.

“I want you to blindfold yourself,” said Dipper, closing his eyes as he did so, knowing full well that this was an unreasonable request. “I know we have our champagne safe word, but it’s entirely possible that the shapeshifter may already be inside the Shack, and everyone else just doesn’t know it yet.”

“Your point is?” asked Pacifica incredulously.

“I don’t want that thing turning into you,” Dipper answered. “Me? That’s one thing. Mabel? I’m still fine with that. But you’re a step too far.”

“Thanks for your concern,” Pacifica responded sharply. “But how exactly is blindfolding me going to help with that? All that’s going to happen is that I’m not going to be able to see and fight if some shit actually does go down.”

“Look,” said Dipper, reaching out and taking her hand. “We know that the shapeshifter can only replicate what it sees, and only to the clarity that it sees it. If it saw you at all in Crash Site Omega, it probably only saw you from very far away, which means it probably didn’t see the color of your eyes. If he tries to turn into you, he’ll have to guess what color your eyes are. And unless he gets really lucky, I’ll probably be able to tell the difference.”

“There were a lot of ‘probably’s in that sentence,” said Pacifica, gently running her thumb over his knuckles. “I’ll do this for you, but are you sure that it’s really necessary? I mean, we do have the code word.”

“And it’s a good code word,” said Dipper, trying to be reassuring. “But if we ask each other too many times, the shapeshifter may be able to figure it out. But he could never figure out your eyes.”

“Well, are you sure you know my eyes well enough?” said Pacifica, turning to him and clicking on the interior light in the truck. “It’s been a long time since you’ve looked into them.”

“It’s been a long time since Astoria,” chuckled Dipper, meeting her gaze. Her eyes shone an icy blue, fading away to a pale grey at the edge of the iris. The gradient from colorless to azure burned with a stern, sad intensity. “But I look into your eyes every day.” Pacifica blinked and looked away.

“Fine,” she said, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes as she lifted the cloth, binding it around the back of her head. The last thing she saw before her world went dark was Ford’s silhouette at the door, beginning the long process of undoing all of the locks.

“It’s just for a few minutes,” she heard Dipper say as she turned her head to hear him better. “Once we get inside, I can get you some dark-tinted sunglasses. You won’t be able to see as well as normal, but it should keep you safe.”

She heard his door open, and then slam shut as she started to fumble around in her surroundings, looking for her own door handle. It was surprisingly difficult to find, considering how much time she had spent in Francine on their trip up to Seattle. By the time her hand wrapped around the hard plastic of the lever, she heard the door clicking on its own as Dipper opened it from the outside.

Extending a hand, she unbuckled and slowly slid outwards as Dipper helped her to the ground with an unsteady hop. Feeling her feet crunch into the snow, she shivered as all of the heat left her feet. She extended her hands uncertainly, unsure of where to go from here. However, she relaxed into Dipper as she felt his arm wrap around her and usher her into the Shack.

“We’re at the steps now,” he said as Pacifica heard the door creak open in front of them.

“Ow,” Pacifica cursed as she accidentally kicked the step, having not picked up her foot far enough. “Sorry,” she apologized as she took a moment to recalibrate, gingerly feeling her way up to the porch.

“Don’t worry,” chuckled Dipper. “This is your first time being blind, after all.”

Pacifica sighed in relief as she felt a burst of warm air surround her, the Shack filled with the warmth of bodies and of a roaring fire. The door rattled behind her as it closed, followed by the metal chinking of dozens of locks being snapped and shunted into place.

“Why is she blindfolded?” she heard Ford ask from behind her. “Did the shapeshifter tear out her eyes?”

“No,” said Dipper, lifting his hand from Pacifica’s shoulder as he did so. “We think that the shapeshifter saw everything about her except for her eyes. This is kind of like the mask that you wore whenever you dealt with it before it was frozen for the first time. It’s the best that we can do, at least.”

“Clever thinking, Dipper!” praised Ford. “The fewer people it can become, the better. Now, come with me. I’ve already searched the Shack from head to toe, and I believe that we’re alone. We’re all gathered in the living room and we need to have a council of war.”

“Council of war?” asked Pacifica tentatively. “That sounds awfully serious.”

“It is awfully serious,” said Ford, Pacifica jumping slightly as he patted her on the shoulder. “There are many monsters in Gravity Falls, dear girl. And, thankfully, only a few of them are truly dangerous. However, the shapeshifter is one of them.”

“How dangerous, exactly?” said Pacifica, stumbling as she was ushered into the living room.

“Extremely,” said Dipper from in front of her, causing her head to snap about. Every time someone spoke, it came as an absolute surprise to her and caught her off guard. “Ford, you tell her about it. I’m going to go down to your lab and get some dark sunglasses for her. That way she’ll at least be able to see.”

“Get the shade-five welding goggles,” called Ford after him as Dipper’s footfalls retreated into the gift shop. “That should be a happy medium between keeping her eyes functional and shapeshifter security.” Pacifica rolled her covered eyes—as soon as Dipper and Ford got together, they started speaking about her as though she was some piece of equipment that needed to be maintained.

“Pacifica!” Mabel shouted out, launching herself at the blonde from across the room. Pacifica could tell by the tone of her voice that she was coming in for a hug, but was still caught off guard when the impact happened, staggering a few steps and using Mabel’s arms to brace herself. “What happened? Are you okay? How’s Francine?”

“The truck is fine, Mabel,” answered Pacifica reassuringly. “We’re all fine, for now at least. I’m sure that Dipper will tell you all about it when he gets back.”

“I want to hear it from you, though,” said Mabel, ushering her over to Stan’s chair. Surprisingly, Stan wasn’t occupying it at the moment. “Dipper’s going to make it too nerdy.”

“Then I’ll chime in if he says something stupid,” said Pacifica, relaxing back into the soft cushioning. After a full day of crouching and running, with pumps of adrenaline and cortisol flowing through her nonstop, it was wonderful to just sit back for a moment. “But, right now,” she said, looking at the most recent direction Mabel’s voice had come from, “we need to deal with the shapeshifter. Where are Candy and Grenda?”

“They’re at their houses,” responded Mabel. “After you and Dipstick left for your adventure, we all went and hung out at the mall with Melody. Then, we dropped them off and came back here, where Ford almost blasted us out of existence with his laser pistol.”

“I’m sorry about that,” apologized Ford. “I already promised that I would buy you some of the most highly caffeinated coffee that I can find for Christmas. I couldn’t afford to take any chances. We’re dealing with a very serious threat here.”

“Speaking of that,” said Pacifica, turning to where she thought Ford was, “I want to hear more about why exactly the shapeshifter’s so dangerous. I need to know what we’re up against.”

“Of course,” answered Ford from exactly the opposite direction she was looking. “I’ve already told everyone else here, and Dipper already knows, so you certainly deserve to understand the threat we’re facing.

“The shapeshifter was one of my later discoveries,” began Ford, Pacifica’s head following the location of his voice as he paced nervously around the room. “While Fiddleford and I were excavating the bunker, we stumbled upon an egg that appeared to have been buried for quite some time. Soon, however, it cracked, and the shapeshifter came out.”

“So you’ve known it since the moment it was hatched?” asked Pacifica, baffled. If it was so dangerous, why hadn’t it been taken care of long before now?

“Yes,” confirmed Ford, sadly. “And I must confess that I grew to have a great fondness for the little creature. When he was small, I’d let him run around inside the bunker, transforming into dogs and cats and whatever else I showed him a picture of. Of course, I always wore a mask.”

“That was a smart thing to do,” said Pacifica, reaching up and gently touching her blindfold. She didn’t like wearing it. It made her feel vulnerable, able to be attacked from any angle. She had almost grown angry at Dipper over it, but reassured herself that he was only doing what was in her best interest—after barely managing to break free from the influence of her parents, she shuddered at the thought of running into the arms of a person who would clip her wings yet again.

“Alas,” said Ford, sighing, “I wasn’t smart enough. It started to outgrow the confines of its cage and became angry with me for keeping it imprisoned within the bunker. Fiddleford and I agreed that it should be frozen immediately, before it attacked me and tried to reach the surface. Even though it was a monster, we could tell that it was harboring a wicked grudge—and once it saw the outside world, there would be nothing we could do to stop it from becoming anyone in Gravity Falls.

“But the day before we were going to seal it away, it finally caught a glimpse of Fiddleford’s face and almost tricked me into showing it my journals. There are dozens of forms in there, any one of which would have been devastating if used in the wrong hands. Thankfully, we were able to trick in into one of the cryogenic tubes and freeze it before it escaped.”

“That sounds like what we did when we fought it!” chimed in Mabel from her position perched on the arm of Stan’s chair. Pacifica jumped slightly, having not known that Mabel was so close to her.

“Yes, that’s what Dipper told me,” continued Ford. “Somehow, it broke free of the chamber that Fiddleford and I placed it in, and you all had to clean up our mess. I’m still sorry about that, by the way.”

“Eh,” Mabel said, shifting slightly. “It’s fine. Dipper woke up screaming for weeks, but it’s fine.”

“Uh, yes… anyway,” said Ford, clearing his throat. “We froze the creature, it got free, you kids froze the creature again, and now it’s free yet again. And, what’s worse, Dipper said that it had somehow reached the surface. What were you kids even doing in the bunker?” asked Ford, his voice teetering into anger at his great-nephew and his girlfriend trespassing on his condemned property.

“It’s a long story,” said Dipper, reentering the room. Pacifica heard his footsteps as he walked over to her, extending her hands to receive the glasses he delicately dropped into them. Closing her eyes, she removed the flannel blindfold and slipped the glasses on, using the cord wrapped around the back to secure them to her head.

“Then tell it to us, kid,” said Stan, leaning with one arm against the main table. Pacifica, blinking as she got used to the low light level filtering in through the glasses, was finally able to see the rest of the room.

Ford continued pacing the room, wearing his normal trench coat and turtleneck, a black strap running across his chest. Now, however, he had a large, sci-fi style pistol strapped to his hip, and the cumbersome way in which he walked caused Pacifica to suspect he had something else stashed in his jacket.

Soos sat hunched over the living room table in his Mr. Mystery suit, eyepatch flipped up to his forehead. He wore a worried expression, something that Pacifica hadn’t seen on Soos before—and that worried her more than anything Ford was telling her. If Soos was getting serious, when he had been cavalier even during the Oddpocalypse, the threat must be serious. He held a baseball bat in his hands, turning it over and over out of nervousness. As Melody placed her hand on his leg, however, he looked at her and smiled.

Melody had undergone the most dramatic transformation—she now wore an old, dusty set of combat fatigues, patterned in checkered camouflage, along with muddy boots that seemed two sizes too large. The nametag on the chest read ‘Burgess’—likely, she had inherited the uniform from one of her grandparents. Or, she could just be really into military history—Pacifica didn’t know her all that well.

In addition to the clothing, Melody had her hair tied back in a tight bun. A pistol similar to Ford’s was strapped to her side, and a knife was tucked in her combat vest. If Ford gave her a weapon, he must have had more faith in her ability to aim than Soos’s, despite his far greater experience with laser tag.

Pacifica glanced up at Mabel—she wore a look of worry on her face as well, though her eyes still retained their sparkle. She wore tennis shoes and jeans, along with a dalmatian patterned sweater—likely, it would serve as better camouflage in the snow than would Melody’s actual army equipment. Mabel reached down and gently scratched Waddles’s head, who sat at attention beside the chair.

The person who caught Pacifica most off-guard, however, was Stan. He was wearing his old Mr. Mystery outfit, just like Soos, but had taken off the jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, undoing the top buttons. His hands were bound inside a pair of large leather gloves, much like those Ford was wearing. His fez sat on the table as sweat beaded across his brow, wiping it away with his free hand. His other hand propped him up against the table, where Journals 3 and 4 laid, open to the pages with information about the shapeshifter. She could hear the scratch of his stubble against his fingers as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, thinking about how best to defend the Shack—it appeared that Grunkle Stan could clean up and get serious when the mood struck him. However, it didn’t appear that the mood struck that often.

“Well,” Dipper started, walking over to the table. Stan stood up and crossed his arms, allowing space for Dipper and Ford to get a good view of the documents. Pacifica started to stand up to join them, but stopped when Mabel placed her hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her head. She sat back and watched as the three men started to plan. “As you know, our initial plan was to visit Crash Site Omega. We got there with no problems, but things went downhill once we got into the main atrium.” Not knowing what else to do, Pacifica removed her pink jacket and draped it over the back of Stan’s chair.

“The rock was still secure?” asked Ford, flipping to the next blank page in Journal 4 and beginning to hastily sketch a diagram. He had begun Journal 4 to chronicle his and Stan’s adventures on the high seas, and the volume was nearing completion. Progress on filling it in had progressed much more slowly than the previous three, since there was far less concentrated weirdness activity out on the water.

“It was,” said Dipper. “Anyway, after we moved it, we descended into the main room and dropped to the bottom floor to get the alien cable you asked for.”

“You forgot Chutzpar,” blurted Pacifica, unable to contain herself. Dipper, Stan, and Ford immediately looked back over their shoulders at her, causing her to shrink slightly into the chair.

“Chutzpar?” asked Ford, looking back at Dipper.

“Um… yes,” said Dipper, flipping through Journal 3 to find the sketch he had added of the manotaurs. Finding none, however, he quickly became flustered. “I must have forgotten to document them,” he said sheepishly.

“Them, who?” asked Ford, bewildered. “Gnomes? Unicorns? Sasquatch?”

“No,” responded Dipper, shaking his head. “Manotaurs.”

“Manotaurs?” asked Ford, looking at the ceiling as he tried to search his memory for any mention of them. “Wait, you mean the cow monsters that you helped to rescue me with during Weirdmageddon?”

“Yeah, them!” said Dipper, relieved. “I’m surprised that you haven’t run into them before—they’re actually pretty easy to find.”

“I did find them,” said Ford, pulling out and pointing to an entry in Journal 2. “They just laughed me out of their cave for being a nerd. I certainly didn’t wind up on a first name basis with any of them.”

“Hah!” Stan laughed, loudly, poking Ford in the ribs. “Guess that means that teenager is manlier than you, Sixer!”

“Well, Stanley,” replied Ford, straightening his glasses, “I don’t put too much stock in the opinions of bovine half-men who don’t understand the concept of soap.”

“Anyway!” continued Dipper, pushing onward to the problem at hand. “We ran into one of them on the way there.”

“More like he ran into you,” snickered Pacifica to herself, just loudly enough for Mabel to hear and chuckle with her.

“We talked,” Dipper said, unperturbed, “and he warned us that something dangerous was moving around underground.”

“And despite this warning, you still went into Omega?” asked Ford, bewildered.

“Well… yeah,” said Dipper, sheepishly. “You needed the alien cable. Which we have, by the way.” He pulled the bundle of wire out of his bag and handed it to Ford, who tossed it nonchalantly into the kitchen.

“Dipper,” said Ford, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. “As important and spectacular as this teleportation engine is, it’s not worth risking your safety over. The information we get from other creatures about weirdness phenomenon is our most valuable resource. Evaluate what they say critically, but they generally have no motive to lie to you.”

“Yes sir,” Dipper responded, quietly, more defeated and embarrassed than Pacifica had ever heard him. It was small wonder that he had been so insistent on getting those cables—if he cared so much about Ford’s opinion, he would want to try to impress him at any possible chance that he got.

“What’s more,” said Stan, “when you’re up in Gravity Falls, your safety is still my responsibility. You may be older now, but I’m still the one who would have to call your parents if something happened. Don’t make me do that,” he said sternly.

“Our parents are in Nebraska trying to chase down our runaway Amish aunt,” said Dipper, rolling his eyes.

“I’ve been all across this country, and I found my brother in another dimension,” continued Stan, poking Dipper in the chest. “So I promise you that I could find them too.”

“Point taken,” said Dipper, waving his hands in the air, blood rushing to his face as he was chastised. “But let’s try to focus on the more immediate problem here. There’s a shapeshifter on the loose, and we still need to figure out how to deal with it.”

“Very well,” said Ford, leaning his chair back and crossing his arms. “Continue with your story.”

“Anyway,” continued Dipper, “after we descended into the ship, we heard a noise behind us as something—we didn’t know what at the time—climbed across the ceiling and up the ladder to the surface in just a couple of seconds. Then it put the rock back, and we were trapped.”

“Was the metal panel not underneath the rock?” wondered Ford aloud. “If it was, you could have just used the magnet gun to lift the rock.”

“It wasn’t,” said Dipper, causing Ford to begin sketching again. “Whatever the thing was, it just put the rock back. It must have known about the magnet guns.”

“That does sound like the shapeshifter,” admitted Ford.

“That was the first clue,” said Dipper, retrospect forcing him to wonder how he hadn’t seen it before. “We thought it might have been an alien that escaped from cryo-storage, but that hypothesis didn’t work out.”

“So, at this point,” said Stan, an edge in his voice. “You were trapped underground in a dangerous alien ship, one which almost killed you and my brother on a prior occasion, and you didn’t call us? What about Ford’s doohickey?”

“The Weslee, Stanley,” said Ford, rolling his eyes. Dipper sighed in relief, thankful to see some levity being injected back into the situation. “But yes,” he continued, “that’s a good question.”

“We were underground,” justified Dipper. “We tried, but the signal couldn’t get through.”

“Hmm…” mused Ford to himself. “Omega isn’t that far underground, and the Weslee contains a very strong emitter. It should have been able to get through the dirt… perhaps the alien metal interfered with the signal? I’ll need to investigate that further, when this is all taken care of.”

“Point is,” said Dipper, turning to Stan, “we tried. We were just going to wait there, but then Pacifica noticed a set of strange footprints in the dust leading off into the corridors.”

“Strange, how?” asked Ford, turning to face Pacifica. She jumped slightly when she felt Mabel nudge her in the back, indicating that she could go and join the conference table.

“Well, for one,” she began slowly. “They didn’t have any tread on them. Not like your and Dipper’s boots.”

“That also seems like very shapeshifter-like,” continued Ford. “You said that he took the form of the bean mascot when you saw him three summers ago?” he asked Dipper.

“Yeah,” he answered, looking back and forth between Ford and Pacifica. “I didn’t pay much attention to his shoes back then.”

“No reason to be ashamed,” replied Ford. “If that was the form he chose to take when he first appeared to you, then odds are that he likes it for some reason, so he would probably turn into it often. Not knowing what to expect, that’s probably what he chose to appear as when exploring Omega.”

“That doesn’t explain the shoes, though,” Soos said, raising his head. Everyone looked at him in surprise, unaware that he had been paying such close attention.

“If there’s one thing I know,” said Ford, reassuring him, “it’s what that stupid bean mascot looks like—I must have looked at his face every day for five years. And I know that his shoes aren’t in the picture.

“Dipper was correct earlier when he insisted on giving Pacifica goggles—the shapeshifter can only turn into what it can see, and he had no clue what the lower half of Baron Num Num looked like. So, he had to guess, and he likely overlooked the soles of his boots. It’s just not something he would have thought about.” Soos nodded solemnly. “Continue, Pacifica.”

Pacifica looked up from the journals, surprised to hear her name called. Dipper, glancing up, seemed surprised as well. He had been the one telling the story, but now he was forced to defer to Pacifica. Clearing her throat, she continued.

“After we found the footsteps, we followed them into the ship until the layer of dust on the floor disappeared, and we couldn’t find them anymore. We took a little break, but then Dipper thought of using my hair to track the air currents in the hallways.”

“And that actually worked?” snorted Stan, surprised.

“Yes, actually,” Dipper replied sarcastically, earning something between a smirk and a frown from Stan.

“We followed the movement of air to a panel in the lower part of the ship that had been busted through,” continued Pacifica. “And we walked through that tunnel, which connected to the bunker.”

“So just to clarify,” asked Ford, astounded. “The shapeshifter dug all the way from the bunker to Crash Site Omega? Through the bedrock, steel, and concrete?”

“Yes,” said Dipper, as Ford looked at him in disbelief. “We think that the earthquake last week loosened the earth around the bunker, which allowed for it to escape and dig through.”

“The earthquake!” cursed Ford, violently scribbling on his paper. “I knew that spelled bad news for some reason, but I couldn’t quite put my fingers on it. Rapid megathrust movements along the Cascadia subduction zone are exceedingly rare—the bunker was never designed to handle those kinds of stressors. Another oversight of mine that’s put us all in danger.” He dropped his pen and started running his fingers through his hair nervously, pulling some silvery strands out along with them.

“Hey Sixer,” Stan said gently, putting his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “This is not the biggest mistake you’ve ever made. We cleaned up the apocalypse, and we can clean this up too.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right,” said Ford, straightening his glasses and quickly interlacing his fingers together to keep himself from quivering. “As soon as this thing is over, I’m going to go over to the bunker and shut that place down for good. It’s beyond saving, and should have been backfilled long ago. But, I’m sorry Pacifica. You got to the bunker?”

“Oh, yeah,” continued Pacifica, shaking her head. She had been readjusting her darkened glasses, which weren’t sitting quite comfortably on her face. “We got to the bunker and reached the main room. We saw the tube that the shapeshifter had broken out of, just to make sure that we were right about it. After that, we got to the surface by exploring the tunnels until we found a small hole that reached to ground level, and then dug our way out with the magnet gun.”

“Quite resourceful,” said Ford, taking a deep breath as their story reached its conclusion. “You didn’t attempt to leave through the security room?”

“We tried,” said Dipper. “But the observation room was locked up tight, and I didn’t remember the code for the security room anyway. I didn’t want to risk getting crushed.”

“A good decision,” said Ford, standing up and pushing his chair back. “Now that we know where we stand, it’s time that we make a plan. I’m going to go down to my lab to get some resources. I’m about to tell you everything I know about the shapeshifter, and how we can take care of him before he becomes too much of a problem. From this moment on, the Mystery Shack is on lockdown. No one enters, and no one leaves.”

At that precise moment, a resounding knock could be heard on the door outside.

Instantly, everyone in the Shack was on high alert. Melody gently rested her hand on her pistol as Soos stood up, grabbing his baseball bat and lifting it over his head. Mabel dove behind Stan’s chair, and was quickly joined by Waddles. However, she wasn’t hiding, and soon emerged holding her grappling hook. Stan reached into his pocket, brass knuckles gleaming on his fists as he pulled them out. Ford placed one hand on his gun, and the other within his jacket as he started to slowly sidle up to the door.

Dipper looked around the room frantically, not having any weapon to speak of. After a moment, he reached into his bag and pulled out the magnet gun, fumbling in the loose pouches of the bag for some loose change that he could throw around if it came to a fight. He then took a few steps backwards into the gift shop, hiding behind the interior wall. Pacifica quickly ducked behind Dipper, only poking her head out so she could see Ford advancing to the entrance.

Instead of pulling back the curtains to look at the porch, as he had when Dipper and Pacifica had arrived, he knelt down and looked up from beneath through the glass. He stayed there for a moment, then turned around to face the others in the room. His expression didn’t betray comfort or fear—it was simply neutral.

“It’s Manly Dan’s daughter,” he whispered back into the room. “Corduroy? Wanda?”

“Wendy,” said Dipper, instantly lowering his guard. Pacifica’s hand on his thigh steadied him, pulling him back into the kitchen.

“Hold on, cowboy,” she said, whispering into his ear. “Remember that we found _her_ shirt in the bunker. She was there with you when you fought this thing.” Dipper’s eyes looked at hers, trembling for half a moment before firming with a steely resolve. She winced inwardly—Dipper really wanted to see Wendy, but he was going to put the safety of the Shack and its occupants over his desires. Pacifica was disturbed that it had even been a choice for him.

“You’re right,” said Dipper whispering to the room at large. “But remember that the shapeshifter can only change into things that it sees, which means that it would be wearing either a green plaid shirt or a white tank top.” Ford, hearing him, peeked out the window again.

“It’s a heavy winter jacket,” Ford said. “And I can see her red hair, but she’s wearing some kind of hat. It appears to be an ushanka.”

“Dipper!” whispered Mabel, leaning out from behind Stan’s chair. Waddles’s butt poked out into the room, doing the worst job of hiding out of anyone there. “Wendy gave you her hat! Why would she have another one?”

“Because it’s winter, Mabel!” Dipper whispered back furiously, his voice rising to normal levels. “And there’s a blizzard outside! I wear another ball cap now too! We’ve both changed over three years!”

“Is she even supposed to be here?” called out Stan, fidgeting as he stood with his fists raised. The waiting was the worst part of any fight for him—he wanted to get the punching over with as quickly as possible.

“Yeah!” said Dipper, trying to justify his impulse to let her him—to himself as much as to anyone else in the room. “She sent me a message yesterday saying that she got off work, and would be able to spend Christmas with us. She said that she would be here tomorrow evening—and lo and behold, it’s tomorrow evening, and she’s here.”

“Things do seem to be adding up, Stanley,” said Ford, looking back into the room at the rest of his family, their eyes waiting with anticipation. Ford was clearly the person who would be making the decision on whether or not to let Wendy in. “Dipper,” he asked, peeking back out into the snow. “Do you know what kind of car she drove?”

“Not specifically,” said Dipper, trying to bring his voice back down to an even pitch. “But it was a silver truck—I know that. All the Corduroys drive silver trucks.”

“Silver truck,” confirmed Ford, glancing back. “Look, we’ll put it to a vote, but I think that we can let her in. She seems to fit everyone’s descriptions—and leaving her out there with the shapeshifter could be just as bad an idea as letting someone who is the shapeshifter in. If the creature happened to come across her and do away with her body… it could slip into society seamlessly.”

As Ford looked around the room, people began to make their decisions. Soos, Dipper, and Ford all raised their hands. Melody, Stan, Pacifica, and Mabel stayed quiet.

“Mabel?” asked Dipper, astounded.

“Sorry, bro,” she called across the room at him, a sad expression on her face. “But I watched you pine after her for months. I need more than coincidence to convince me. Besides,” she continued, patting Waddles on the butt, “I have to protect my baby.”

“And so do I,” said Melody, gently rubbing Soos’s shoulders. “Ford, you may have the deed, but this is my house, and I’m not taking any chances.”

“But babe, I worked with this girl for years!” pleaded Soos, looking up at her.

“Then you should know that she can take care of herself,” replied Melody, steely eyed. “I’m sorry, but I’m not budging on this.”

“Neither am I,” said Stan, crossing his arms. “I’ve got you kids and the dumb pig to look after. I love Wendy, don’t get me wrong, but I’m also a gambler—and there’s too much risk here.”

“Pacifica?” pleaded Dipper, looking down at her. She turned her face, not meeting his gaze.

“Look, Dipper,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “I know you like her. A lot. Believe me, I know,” she choked out. “And I know that you just want to make sure that she’s safe. But I want to make sure that you’re safe too, and everyone here. They only way I can do that right now is by keeping her out.” Dipper’s face fell.

“Is there not anything I can do to convince you?” he pleaded with her. “What about the question thing? What if I ask a question that only she would know the answer to?”

“Not enough,” called out Mabel. “If it’s something that only you two know about, we would have to take your word that she’s telling the truth. And you’ve been through a lot today. It has to be something that multiple people here would know. Maybe the lamby-lamby dance?”

“I am not doing the lamby-lamby dance in front of everyone here!” protested Dipper, loudly.

“What’s the lamby-lamby dance?” snickered Pacifica. “You haven’t told me about this.”

“We can talk about it later,” said Dipper, gently waving the question away. “Maybe I can just ask her about the hat. Something simple—'why are you wearing that hat?’ If she answers the question right, then she’s good!”

Pacifica looked around the room warily, surprised to see the expressions on Stan and Melody’s faces softening—Dipper seemed to be beginning to sway them, though whether it was by the strength of his argument or the desperation in his voice, she wasn’t sure. She lowered her eyes to the ground and sighed as another knock came at the door. They all watched as Wendy’s shadow drifted behind the curtain, then returned to stand in front of the door.

“Okay,” whispered Pacifica. “If she answers the question by saying that she still has your hat, then we can let her in. Just…” she gently kissed his hand. “Be careful.”

Dipper smiled and kissed back before straightening up and walking into the living room. As he passed by the table and in front of the television, Stan relaxed his stance, letting his hands fall limply by his side. Melody, however, took a firmer grip on her pistol. Ford began the long process of undoing the locks, and then stepped back, staying hidden behind the wall—ready to spring if anything went south.

The door loomed large before Dipper as he stepped up to it, wrapping his hands around the knob and feeling the cold of the metal contrast with the warmth of the room. He took a deep breath and pulled it open—standing as squarely as he could within the frame. Before him stood Wendy—now that they stood the same height, he was able to get a good look at her face.

She stood bundled in her typical mud stained boots and jeans, but a thick winter jacket was wrapped around her torso. Atop her head was an ushanka—just like the one she had given Dipper. Her face was pale, red and chapped from the blistering wind, but undeniably hers.

“What the heck, Dipper?” she said as she stepped forwards, attempting to enter the building. “You left me standing out here for ages. Do you want me to freeze?”

“Hold on,” said Dipper sternly, stopping her in her tracks by placing his hand against the doorframe. “Why are you wearing that hat?” Wendy looked confused for a moment before answering.

“Oh, this!” she said, chuckling as she lifted it off of her head and dusted the snow from the fur, exposing her flaming red hair fully. “It’s cold. If it makes you feel any better, I still have your cap at home.”

Dipper betrayed no expression, but looked back into the room. Pacifica shrugged and sighed, raising her hand slowly. Mabel remained still, Melody shook her head, and Stan merely stood there, a look of stern worry upon his face. Ford nodded.

Turning back to Wendy, now having the four votes he needed to let her in, Dipper finally let a smile surge across his face, rushing forward and enveloping Wendy in a hug. She stood there for a moment, surprised at Dipper’s new strength, but soon returned it.

“It’s good to see you,” mumbled Dipper as he ended the hug, stepping back and allowing Wendy to enter the Shack.

“It’s good to see you too,” she replied, kicking the snow off her boots before she stepped inside. As soon as she was in, the occupants of the Shack moving to greet her, she jumped—Ford had slammed the door shut behind her, and was sealing all of the locks.

“Okay,” he said sternly, speaking to the room. “Unless there are any other unannounced guests we should be expecting, _now_ we are on lockdown. I say again—no one enters, and no one leaves.”


	13. Briefing

“What’s going on here?” asked Wendy, taking her hat off and stowing it beneath her arm. “Why does Stan look like he’s about to have a nervous breakdown?” she continued, glancing back at Ford.

“Yeah,” said Stan, slipping the brass knuckles into his pockets. “I think this is the real Wendy. Only my former employee would be so rude and insulting.” He opened his arms for a hug, Wendy glancing between Stan and Ford before stepping up and returning the embrace. Slowly, Melody released her grip on the pistol.

“Seriously,” Wendy wondered aloud to the room. “What’s going on, and why is everyone freaking out? Why is the pig hiding?”

“Waddles is scared!” said Mabel, popping up from behind the couch. “And he should be! Don’t mock him.”

“Maybe you can answer my question,” she said, turning to Pacifica. “Everybody here is clearly on edge. Are you throwing me a surprise party?”

“No,” Pacifica responded flatly, crossing her arms. She briefly reached up to touch her glasses, making sure that they were securely affixed in place.

“Don’t mind Pacifica,” said Dipper as he ushered Wendy over to the table. “We’ve just had a really long day today. I think Ford was just about to explain everything to us.”

“Yes,” Ford said, the final locks clicking into place. “I’m going to my lab and coming back with some supplies. The rest of you, stay here. Don’t let anyone out of your sight, and keep our new guest entertained.” He glanced sidelong at Wendy as he passed by, looking for any slipup that she might make that would convince him that the shifter was in their midst. Wendy, unknowing of the implications, merely stared back at him with a snide look in her eye.

“Is he sure he doesn’t need any help?” Wendy asked, pointing at Ford’s back with her thumb as he left the room. “I mean, he is a pretty old man.”

“No older than me,” said Stan, walking over to his chair and plopping down into it with a thud. After the stress of deciding whether Wendy was safe or not, he opted to take a bit of a breather. “And I’ll have you know that I once bludgeoned a zombie to death with a grandfather clock!”

“You pushed it down the stairs,” said Mabel, rolling her eyes at her grunkle’s bragging. She emerged from behind Stan’s chair and, jumping up, sat perched on the back of it. As she emerged from her shelter, Waddles slowly turned around. He went over to Wendy and walked around her, sniffing the ground around her feet. Wendy simply watched him as he did so, unsure of what to do. After a few moments, apparently satisfied that she was a real person, he returned to the chair and plopped down next to it. Instead of closing his eyes, though, he seemed to keep them half open, observing the room.

“Wendy!” Soos said, stepping out from behind the table and letting his baseball bat fall to the floor with a clatter. He extended his arms for a hug, wrapping Wendy up in it and quickly causing her face to go blue from lack of oxygen. “Welcome back for Christmas, former coworker! Have you already stopped by your house?” She gasped as he let her go, boots landing on the wooden floorboards with a dense and solid thud.

“Thanks for that,” breathed Wendy, swallowing. “Yeah, I already stopped by my place to say hi to my folks. As much as I love you all, I needed to make sure my brothers hadn’t burned the place down.”

Dipper looked back at Pacifica eagerly, who met his eyes with a noncommittal sternness. The more Wendy talked, the more it seemed that she knew things that only the real Wendy would know. Pacifica wasn’t pleased about it, but she was starting to admit to herself that the redhead may be genuine after all.

“Good,” continued Soos, running his fingers along the inside of his Mr. Mystery jacket proudly. Picking up his 8-Ball staff, he pointed to the window. “Because with this snow, I don’t think anybody’s going anywhere.”

Already, the drifts had piled up to almost reach the porch, the wind having blown a pile against the base of the door that would have made it difficult to open. The dim lights that shone from within the Shack revealed a world of white—the tires on Francine were already almost completely buried. The storm had come quickly, and seriously.

“Soos,” said Melody, stepping out from behind the table and taking her husband by the shoulder. “Come into the kitchen with me. I want to make some hot chocolate for everyone.”

“Sure thing, babe!” said Soos, smiling like a fool. Even after three years of knowing her, and one of marriage, he still thrilled inwardly whenever he had the chance to call her ‘babe.’

“Hey,” said Dipper, reaching out to stop them from leaving the room, but thinking better of it. “Ford said that we should all stick together.”

“I am sticking together,” replied Melody, briefly stumbling as she tried to take a step in her too-large shoes. “I’m staying with the man who I know is safe.” Dipper, unable and unwilling to argue with her, let them pass into the other room. For the most part, they were still visible.

Melody was a soft person, but she had a hard streak that came out whenever business needed to be taken care of. Dipper had first seen this when she had decapitated an animatronic bear, simply by swinging a metal chair. Having seen how easily the bear was dismantled, he didn’t want to cross her.

“Seriously,” said Wendy, looking around bewildered, unzipping her coat. “Something’s up, and none of you are telling me what it is. Like, why is Ms. Perfect over there wearing swimming goggles?” Beneath her jacket, she wore a flannel shirt—this time, however, it was a festive pattern of red mixed with green. The shapeshifter had only seen her in her green shirt and tank top—it would be impossible for it to fake the new pattern on the shirt. It could guess on some details about a person, but nothing so precise and elaborate as this.

Dipper breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her shirt—even though he had been the main proponent of allowing Wendy in, he had still entertained a frightening bit of doubt, now completely dismissed.

Pacifica gritted her teeth—the fact that Wendy had just insulted her didn’t make her as confused or as angry as the redhead’s shirt. She wasn’t truly sure if she had wanted Wendy to be the shapeshifter or not. The shapeshifter was a threat that she understood, and could fight. The threat that the real Wendy posed to her was one altogether different.

“Well,” said Dipper, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Pacifica felt a tide of anger rising in her veins. “Pacifica and I were out on an expedition today and, well… the shapeshifter may have gotten loose.”

“Wait,” said Wendy, shaking her head vigorously. Wavering slightly, she pulled out a chair from the table and held onto it until it seemed like her head had cleared. “You mean the shapeshifting shapeshifter? The one in the bunker? The one that you _chopped me in the chest with an axe_ while we were fighting it?”

“You did what?” asked Pacifica, astounded. She had known that they had fought the creature together before, but not that it had ended so violently—or that Dipper had the capacity in him for that kind of violence. Even against a monster, he had never seemed to attack with intent to kill.

“She’s exaggerating,” replied Dipper, dismissing Pacifica’s question with a wave of his hand and returning a frown to her face. “It was the shapeshifter that looked like her. It had to be done.”

“It was still terrifying,” said Wendy, shuddering. “Even when you made the right choice, I could still kind of feel what that steel would have felt like in my chest.” Reaching up, she gently ran her fingers along the buttons that held her shirt together. Pacifica rolled her eyes at the melodrama.

“It was terrifying,” Dipper affirmed. “But, yeah… the shapeshifter got loose and now we’re trying to figure out how to deal with it.”

“And by ‘got loose,’” began Wendy, holding up air quotes as she spoke, “do you mean ‘got out of its tube’ or ‘got to the surface’?”

“Surface,” Dipper answered with a grimace.

“Wow,” responded Wendy, flopping back in the chair, letting her slender limbs dangle freely. “So that thing could be anyone right now?”

“Basically,” Mabel confirmed from across the room, reaching down to scratch Waddles. Stan had taken his brass knuckles out of his pocket and was looking at them in the light, polishing them with a lick and a swipe of his shirt whenever he found a spot that bore the slightest tarnish.

“No wonder you didn’t want to let me in,” said Wendy, pointing back to the door. “I wouldn’t have let me in either. That’s a basic survival tactic right there.”

“Trust is good, though,” began Dipper. “After all, if you had just shot me with the crossbow instead of taking the time to talk with me during Weirdmageddon, I don’t think I would have survived. We certainly wouldn’t have been able to beat Bill.”

"I guess you kind of owe me your life then,” chuckled Wendy, punching Dipper playfully in the shoulder. “Man,” she said, leaning forwards, “I really wish I had my axe on me now. It’d be a good tool for this.”

“We probably have one tucked away upstairs,” said Dipper, standing up to go retrieve it, Wendy standing along with him. Mabel started to speak up, but Pacifica was faster, reaching out to place her hand on her boyfriend’s shoulder.

“No you don’t,” she said, turning him around and pulling him a few steps away from everyone else. “We may let Melody and Soos have some private time, but you two don’t get any. Not even if Wendy isn’t the shapeshifter.”

“But she isn’t the shapeshifter?” asked Dipper in confusion. “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal, Dipper,” Pacifica hissed through her teeth into his ear, “is that we are dealing with a very big problem right now. We’ve already taken too many chances, and we can’t afford any more. Plus, I’m your girlfriend, and like it or not, I don’t really trust Wendy.”

“But that’s only because you’re jealous,” Dipper whispered back matter-of-factly. “Even though I’ve told you that you have no reason to be.”

“Well, words don’t help that much when you go running to her every chance you get!” accused Pacifica.

“Paz, I saw you yesterday, and spent all day with you today,” said Dipper, his voice rising above the whisper even as he struggled to stay collected. “I haven’t seen Wendy in four months. And there’s nothing wrong with wanting to catch up with a good friend. After all, she wasn’t exactly wrong when she said that I owed her my life.”

Pacifica took a deep breath. There was something about Wendy that she didn’t like—but Dipper was right. She couldn’t tell if she was speaking from jealousy or pragmatism—but either way, the result was the same. Dipper would not be spending time alone with Wendy, and she was going to stick by that.

“Okay,” she whispered, pointing her perfectly manicured finger into Dipper’s chest, though a small bit of grime remained from when she had grabbed the tunnel wall on their way to the surface. “You can go get your stupid axe, but you go _after_ Ford tells us about this thing. For now, you’re going to stay right here. You can talk about the monster, or whatever you want, but you’re not leaving my sight. You got that?”

Dipper had leaned backwards as she had spoken—she had tapped into a stern, serious voice that she had never used before, one that brooked no arguments. She blinked in surprise as she realized what she had done, not having known that she even had such a voice within her. It wasn’t the authoritative snootiness of the Northwest accent, even though it contained all of its power—it had been her voice, carrying the weight of all her knowledge and experience.

“Wow,” snorted Mabel from across the room—apparently Pacifica had spoken a little louder than she had meant to. “That’s a real impressive Mom voice you have there, Paz.” Pacifica blushed as competing rushes of anger and pride welling up within her. Stan made a whipping motion towards Dipper, laughing as he did so. Blooms of red spread to his cheeks as well, only exacerbated by Wendy’s quiet chuckling behind him.

“I stand by it,” said Pacifica, poking Dipper yet again. He nodded in agreement and suppliantly sat down at the kitchen table.”

“Y-yes,” he said, choking out his first words. “The shapeshifter is loose on the surface, and we need to deal with it. While we wait for Ford, I was wondering if you have any ideas. You fought the thing hand-to-hand, after all.” Dipper cleared his throat.

Wendy took a deep breath and, making a steeple with her hands, held them up to her mouth.

“You did the right thing by coming to me, young Dipper,” she began. Pacifica started to roll her eyes, but didn’t want to dignify her with that response. “My first instinct as a master survivalist is to start building traps. But to do that, we’d need to gather materials. Since we can’t do that at the moment, the best use of our time will be mapping out the building and figuring out where we want to place them.”

“How will we get the traps to trigger properly?” asked Dipper as he took a pen out of his pocket and began scribbling on one of the loose scraps of paper on the table. “I mean, if we set them to trigger when anyone walked by, we’d have a lot of false alerts. And using video cameras to track its movements wouldn’t work, since we don’t even know what to look for. If we could predict the shapeshifter’s path, we could set an ambush, but it could be anywhere. I don’t even know where to start searching.”

“Perhaps I can help with that,” said Ford, entering from the gift shop. He held in his arms several rolled up pieces of paper, along with collapsible metallic easels. He passed easels to Dipper, Pacifica, and Wendy, who started setting them up as he began to unroll the posters. “Pardon the delay, but it took me longer to find these materials than I had originally anticipated. After Weirdmageddon, I tried to put all of this behind me as best I could. Thankfully, I still kept these old diagrams around.”

With the easels set up, Ford moved them in front of the television, cocked at such an angle so that everyone in the room could see them. Stan, knowing that the scientific side of things was not his area of expertise, simply kicked up his legs and scratched Waddles on the head—the pig still had one eye open.

As he took the posters and placed them onto the easels, Soos and Melody came back into the living room, each holding a tray bearing steaming, frothy mugs of hot chocolate. Atop each was a delicate whorl of whipped cream. Now that cold weather had finally arrived, they could enjoy it properly.

“Ooh, ooh,” said Mabel, vaulting to the floor from her position atop Stan’s chair. “I want the one in the peppermint mug!” She wrapped her hands around a tall mug on Melody’s tray, patterned with a red and white spiral than ran from the top to the bottom. She also picked up a simple Mystery Shack mug, with a question mark on it, and brought it over to Stan.

“Thanks sweetie,” he praised gruffly, before lifting the mug to his lips and blowing on it, causing cream to spill down over the rim. Thinking quickly, he licked up the side of the mug and took a sip.

Pacifica handled her mug far more gently, choosing one emblazoned with the emblem of Gravity Falls High School—she supposed that Wendy had brought it to work one day and simply forgotten about it. Dipper selected a deep blue one, which was old, cracked, and simply read ‘Backupsmore University.’ Pacifica knew little about the college, except that her parents had forbidden her from even considering it as an option.

Melody set her mug on the table next to Wendy, and handed another to the redhead. Wendy took it gratefully, holding it to her nose and inhaling deeply. However, she apparently decided that it was too hot, and set it down on the table to cool.

Soos walked over to Ford and offered him a mug—Ford gestured him away, too busy trying to set up his presentation about the shapeshifter to hold a drink at the same time. Soos turned to Mabel, both of them smiling and shrugging in unison as Soos licked the whipped cream off the tops of both remaining mugs, claiming them for his own.

Pacifica watched as Ford put the final board into place and started fumbling around in his jacket for a marker. Quickly finding one, he tore the cap off and scribbled a convoluted blue line onto the back of the posters, just to make sure that it still worked. Apparently satisfied, he walked over to the table and collected Journals 3 and 4, which Wendy had begun to flip through absentmindedly.

“Hey,” Pacifica whispered to Soos as he walked by her on his way to return the trays to the kitchen. “You wouldn’t happen to have any caramel sauce here, would you?” she asked pleadingly. The only thing that had kept her going throughout the day had been the shot of Mabel Juice 2.0 she had taken at breakfast, and she desperately needed more sugar.

“Dude,” said Soos, turning towards her with a solemn expression, “ask a serious question next time!” A smile burst back out on his face as he turned to the fridge and reached into the door, tossing Pacifica a pale brown bottle. She caught it out of the air with ease, and flipped the cap open with ease. It wasn’t the fancy stuff, but it would do.

She slowly drizzled the thin, sugary strands atop the mountain of whipped cream, crosshatching the lines as though she was sketching in the journals. Soon satisfied, she capped the bottle and placed it onto a shelf next to her.

She brought the cup to her lips and took a sip, feeling the blooming warmth enter her belly. She was warm enough on the outside, but it took the gentle burn of the hot chocolate to finally chase away the cold that had seeped into her bones during their day underground.

Licking the whipped cream from her lips, everyone in the room settled into their positions for Ford’s presentation—Soos, Melody, Wendy, and Dipper sitting at the table, Stan in his chair with Mabel on the back of it, Ford in the corner with the easels and boards, and Pacifica leaned up against the doorway leading from the living room to the kitchen. Ford looked around the room, ensuring that everybody was present and accounted for.

“Thank you all for coming,” began Ford before clearing his throat. “Even though, if I’m being honest, you didn’t have much choice in the matter.”

“Just get to it Sixer,” chided Stan from behind a whipped cream mustache. “Tell us what it is that we need to know.”

“Yes, Stanley,” Ford replied, briefly pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation before continuing. “If we want to deal with this problem effectively, you must first understand how the shapeshifter works. How it moves, how it transforms, and how it hunts.” Ford took his marker and used it to point directly at the leftmost board, which contained a diagram of the creature.

“This is the shapeshifter,” he said, drawing a large circle around it. “Or, at least, this is what it looks like in its normal state. I studied this thing for months, and this was the form that it reverted to when it thought no one was around to watch it. It is very unlikely that anyone will ever find it in this form, but understanding what it looks like is helpful for understanding how its transformative properties work.

“Essentially,” continued Ford, drawing an arrow pointing to the interior of the creature, “the shapeshifter has no brain. Instead, the entirety of its body is filled with what I call a ‘neural jelly’—a free floating mix of neurons and electrical signals that act in concert with each other. Yes, Soos?” Ford asked, seeing his hand raised in the back of the room.

“Does the jelly taste like strawberries?” he asked, as sincere as he could possibly be.

“It does not,” said Ford sternly, sending a frown over Soos’s face. “Apricot,” he continued as he turned back to the board, earning a nod of approval from Soos.

“You mean to tell me that you ate some of the brain jelly?” asked Stan, disbelieving.

“I did not eat it, Stanley, I tasted it,” Ford chastised. “We needed to take a sample anyway, and you’d be surprised how much you can learn by licking things.” Mabel, Dipper, Pacifica, and Soos all nodded in agreement.

“Anyway,” continued Ford, now drawing an arrow to the monster’s skin. “This neural jelly contains no bones, or structure of any kind. The only thing keeping it in place is the cellular film matrix on the outside of the creature, kind of like the matte, clumpy bits that form on top of a bowl of soup after it’s been left out too long. It is this matrix that the creature manipulates in order to change forms. It may appear to look different from the outside, but inside, it’s all the same jelly.”

“So all we have to do is stab it and all of this jelly will just pour out?” asked Wendy, still wanting to get ahold of her axe.

“Not quite,” said Ford, lifting up his marker. “You’ve fought this thing before, so you should know that as soon as the film matrix is punctured, it immediately firms up again. The only way I know of to seriously harm or imprison the creature is through freezing. The cold causes the matrix to cease up, and slows down the rate of neural activity in the jelly until the creature can no longer transform.”

“Odds are then,” pointed out Stan, “that it’s already frozen somewhere outside. All we have to do is wait until the storm stops, and then get out a search party to try and find it before it thaws.”

“Sadly, Stanley, that’s a bit optimistic,” said Ford, stepping over to the board in the center, which displayed an aerial view of the entire valley. Marked on it with colorful labels were the Shack, the location of the bunker, and Crash Site Omega. “I know this creature. It’s smart. It would have felt the cold coming and tried to find shelter, and there are plenty of places in the valley where it could do that.”

“Seems like it’d be awfully hard to hide a ten-foot tall slug,” replied Stan. “I mean, I know it’s a shapeshifter, but if it’s that big, how many things can it even turn into? It couldn’t turn into a mouse, or something, could it?”

“It turned into us,” said Mabel, bending down to offer her empty cup of hot chocolate for Waddles to lick. “And that was three years ago, when we were a lot smaller.”

“Still, not quite a mouse,” answered Ford, tapping on the poster with the capped end of his pen. “Maybe when it was young, but not now. The neural jelly inside can be expanded or concentrated as the Shifter wishes, becoming denser or more aerated depending on what it wishes to transform into.

“There are some outer limits, however. If it gets too big, there’s no longer enough jelly present to control the external film, and its shifting capabilities collapse. If it goes too small, the film isn’t strong enough to contain the jelly, and the creature would pop like a blister. The shapeshifter operates within very narrow margins, relatively speaking.

“Still, there are only two things that I know for certain about the creature’s capabilities,” Ford continued, rubbing his chin. “The first is that it can become almost anything—alive or dead, organic or inorganic. The limit to this is that it can only replicate things that it sees, and only to the resolution that it sees them. This is why Pacifica is wearing glasses now,” said Ford, pointing at her. Wendy nodded her head, finally having one of her questions answered. “Otherwise, it has to guess at what the thing it’s trying to replicate looks like, and since the creature has spent its entire life underground, it’s not too good at that. However, now that it has reached the surface, it is likely learning by the second.” Ford grimaced.

“The second is that it cannot shift into more than two things at once. The ‘consciousness’ of the beast, so to speak, is always located in the part of its body that contains the most jelly. If a smaller portion of the jelly were to detach from its body, that smaller part would immediately lose the ability to control the film matrix and dissolve. We are, at least, only dealing with one localized creature.”

“What you’re saying, then,” said Stan, rubbing his brass knuckles gleefully, “is that we need to set up some kind of ambush and then freeze it solid.”

“Basically, yes,” confirmed Ford. “And in all honesty, the freezing part will probably be the easiest. Liquid nitrogen is required to freeze the creature all the way through, and we’re not going to be able to lure it into a cryo-tube again. The tubes are too heavy, and the shapeshifter is too smart.

“However, we don’t need to freeze the neural jelly inside—just the external film matrix. If we can get that to solidify, it will hold the creature in place long enough for me to inject it with a neuron poison,” said Ford, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a cobalt blue device. Though it looked much like the pistol that he had strapped to his side, it was incapable of firing lasers.

“This,” continued Ford, “is a very large syringe. Inside of the barrel is a hollow, six-inch long needle. When I pull the trigger, pneumatic pressure will force the needle in through just about anything and insert a lethal compound of lead and formaldehyde-enriched tetrodotoxins. The neural jelly should vitrify almost immediately.” Both Stan and Wendy drew up in their chairs, retreating from the needle—both of them were frightened of being punctured.

“But wait,” said Dipper, leaning forward in his chair. “If the shapeshifter can pinch off part of its body and discard it, what if it’s able to do that before the neurotoxin reaches throughout its entire system? It would get smaller, but it would still be alive.”

“I’m not too worried about that, Dipper,” said Ford, crossing over to the third and final poster. “The toxin will cause disarray amongst the neurons in the jelly. Even if they’re not all dead, they won’t be synchronized enough to eject the poisoned material until it’s too late. In order to survive the dose, the shapeshifter would have to know what was happening ahead of time and be prepared for it. So, as long as we don’t tell him, we should be fine.

“What I am worried about, however,” began Ford, “is how we’re going to find him. How many of you are familiar with this diagram?” he asked, pointing at the rightmost poster. It represented a geometric funnel, the lines all curving to meet at a specific point. Perfect circles radiated out from a small icon labeled ‘Gravity Falls,’ which sat in the dead center of the diagram.

“That’s the Gravity Well,” said Mabel, perking up and answering the question before Dipper was able to open his mouth. As he looked at her in disbelief, Mabel stuck out her tongue at him. Apparently, she had been paying attention.

“Correct!” said Ford proudly. “This is a visual representation of the Natural Law of Weirdness Magnetism. Strange things are attracted to this valley, for reasons that I’ve never been able to fully explain. We still don’t know if they migrate from elsewhere in the country, or arise endemically through some natural process or dimensional leakage. But, regardless of where they come from, this theory does beg the question—why, once the creatures are in the valley, do they never seem to leave it?”

Dipper sat there dumbfounded—apparently, he had never considered such a thing. Despite knowing full well that weirdness was localized to the valley, the reason why it never leaked out had never occurred to him as a subject of curiosity. He quickly drew a thoughtful expression across his face, in an attempt to appear as though he was deep in contemplation. To Pacifica, however, he was clearly looking around the room and waiting for someone else to speak. She took another sip of her hot chocolate.

“Well,” Pacifica began as all eyes in the room pivoted to her, Ford leaning forwards slightly to get a good view. “That diagram looks an awful lot like the ones they use to represent Einstein’s theory of relativity—the mass of the stars and planets pulling spacetime inwards.” Theoretical physics wasn’t her specialty, but she was passingly familiar with it—her interest in space had surged after seeing the emerald moon.

“So,” she continued, “if that analogy holds, then the Gravity Well might act like a black hole. There’s a weirdness event horizon that creatures just can’t get past before they’re forced to turn back. Bigger creatures like the manotaurs could probably get farther than the gnomes. The shapeshifter is a pretty big monster, though—so there’s a very wide range that we’d have to search in.”

“Correct!” said Ford, even more happily than he had with Mabel. Returning the syringe to his jacket, he took out his blue pen and traced over one of the circles on the diagram. “The shapeshifter must remain within the valley, unless it could figure out some way to pass through the weirdness barrier entirely.”

“Why would it want to leave the Falls, though?” asked Soos, shrugging. “This is a nice place. There’s food. There’s laser tag. What more could it want?”

“While it is true that the shapeshifter could remain within Gravity Falls for the rest of its life,” began Ford, “I personally find that unlikely, and for one simple reason—it knows that we’re after it.

“It saw Dipper and Pacifica down in Omega, and it deliberately trapped them there. It certainly recognized Dipper, and it knew that it would only be a matter of time before we noticed their absence and went looking for them. And it knows that we’re going to stop at nothing to track it down and eliminate it, because we know the threat that it poses. We’ll turn this entire valley upside down if we have to!”

“What you’re saying, then,” said Stan, trying to keep his brother calm—it was rare that Ford got worked up like this, meaning that the shapeshifter truly worried him. “Is that it’s only a matter of time before we’re able to find it. As soon as Christmas is over, we’ll send the kids home to where they’ll be safe, and you and I can handle the dangerous work. There’s no need to rush.”

“While you’re technically right, Stanley,” began Ford, “I don’t want to put this off for any longer than we absolutely have to. For one thing, the shapeshifter holds a mean grudge—if it had the chance, it would certainly attack me, Dipper, or anyone that we care about.” Dipper glanced at Wendy, then to Pacifica. “In fact, it’s surprising to me that it didn’t attack Dipper and Pacifica outright inside of Omega. Perhaps it was just so thrilled at the chance to escape to the surface that it wasn’t thinking clearly.

“Plus, the creature is smart, and there are ways around the event horizon of the Gravity Well. The biggest one, of course, being the teleportation engine that we currently have stashed in the basement. The shapeshifter wouldn’t care where it got sent, so long as it was outside the confines of the Well. Once it was outside of that boundary, we wouldn’t stand a chance of ever tracking it down again.” Ford tapped his marker against the poster rapidly.

“So, there are two things that we need to keep secret from the shapeshifter. The first is my neurotoxin syringe, and the second is the teleportation engine,” declared Ford, everyone in the room nodding along to confirm that they understood.

“And based on the snowstorm,” he continued, “we will likely be trapped within the Shack overnight. In the morning, we’ll be able to venture out into the valley and begin conducting a search, but I wouldn’t risk venturing out tonight unless we absolutely have to.”

“How are we going to track it down after the storm ends?” asked Melody, having long since drained her cup of cocoa.

“We could use the Weslees!” said Dipper, perking up and pulling the silver device out of his jacket. He started to rapidly tap on the keypad, but stopped when he glanced up to see Ford shaking his head. 

“I’m afraid that won’t work, my boy,” he said sadly. “The radar function on the Weslees is only able to track down pockets of localized weirdness against a background of normalcy. Within the bounds of Gravity Falls, the background weirdness radiation is too strong—the shapeshifter would be indistinguishable from every rock, plant, and tree in the valley.

“I do, of course, have more sensitive equipment in my lab, but it’s too cumbersome to move quickly. We’d have to set up a mobile trailer and drive it around the valley. We could do that eventually, but not with so much snow on the ground,” he continued, crossing his arms.

“We’re just supposed to wait here until morning, then?” asked Pacifica, incredulous. She had had a really long day, and was in desperate need of a shower and a good night’s sleep. The Northwest Christmas Eve Party was tomorrow, and she wouldn’t even need makeup to have perfectly purple silhouettes around her eyes—both from exhaustion, and the welding goggles pressed against her skin.

“I’m afraid so,” said Ford, striding over to the window and peeking out. The snow had been steadily falling since Dipper and Pacifica has arrived, and already the porch was covered. “However, Stanley was correct when he said that the creature would likely freeze if it went outside in these conditions. Wherever it is, it will stay until the storm abates.

“We should be fairly safe, but I still want to institute a few safety precautions. From now on, we travel in pairs. Soos and Melody will be together, as will Dipper and Pacifica. Mabel, you’re with Wendy. Stanley, it’s you and me.”

“Come on, Grunkle Ford,” said Mabel jumping down from the back of Stan’s chair. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for Dipper to be with Wendy, and me with Pacifica? Pacifica needs to give me another sketching lesson, after all.”

“My judgement is final,” said Ford, staring down the bridge of his nose at her. “I’m sorry Mabel, but these are the best pairings for the current situation. From what I’ve heard about Dipper and Wendy’s first encounter with this creature, I fear that they may be prone to bias in their decision making. Besides, there’s nothing saying that you can’t all hang out together in the same room. Just that you can’t be alone.” Mabel pouted, but stepped back in silence. Dipper and Wendy, meanwhile, looked at each other sarcastically, shocked to have been so insulted. Pacifica was inwardly relieved that Ford hadn’t even considered putting Dipper with Wendy.


	14. Quarantine

“Now,” continued Ford, tucking his pen back into his jacket and beginning the process of gathering up the easels and posters. “It may be dark outside, but the night is still fairly young. What do you all say to another round of poker to lighten the mood? I have some cash I need to win back from Stanley.”

“You’ll have to kill me for it!” said Stan, closing the footrest on his recliner and standing up, finally tucking his brass knuckles back into his pockets. As he stood up, Waddles lurched to his feet with a complaining snort and went to stand by Mabel.

“Do you need any help taking that stuff back downstairs, Grunkle Ford?” asked Dipper, jumping to his feet. Wendy hopped up beside him. “We could even work on the engine some, now that we have the alien wire!”

“No thank you, Dipper,” said Ford, tucking the easels under his shoulders. “I brought it up here, and I can take it back down. Plus, I think it would be best if we kept the engine in a state of disrepair until this shapeshifter issue is solved. Then, we can play with it all you like.” Dipper lurched back in disappointment as Ford walked across the room, passing through the kitchen before disappearing into the gift shop. 

“Hey Soos,” asked Wendy, looking over her shoulder at him. “You need any help cleaning up the gift shop? For old time’s sake?”

“Wendy, I would be honored to sweep these hallowed floors with you once again,” Soos replied, bowing like a ninja.

“Oh no you don’t,” said Stan, reaching out and gabbing Wendy’s arm. “You and me are gonna’ play a little poker. I still remember what you did in our game last year.”

“Come on Stan,” said Wendy, rolling her eyes. “It wasn’t that big a deal.”

“Not that big a deal!?” exclaimed Stan dramatically. “You bluffed me into folding when you had _nothing!_ I owed you a week of paid time off after that.”

“It’s not my fault you made a bad call, man,” Wendy replied, throwing up her hands.

“It’s these darn teenagers today,” chastised Stan. “They’re too busy making chicken-lips or whatnot that I can’t read their faces anymore.” Pacifica was about to correct Stan on his gross misappraisal of teen culture when Ford poked his head back into the room.

“Stanley, come down here with me, would you? I’d feel silly if I said we should always travel with partners and then immediately traveled without a partner,” he asked, holding out two of the easels for Stan to take.

“Yeah, fine,” Stan replied gruffly before reaching into his sleeve and pulling out a deck of cards. He tossed it to Wendy, who snatched it out of the air with ease. “While I’m with the nerd down there,” he said, “you shuffle. I want you ready to deal when I come back up!”

“I see neither of them have changed,” said Wendy, smirking as she tossed the pack of cards to Dipper. Pulling his chair up closer to the table, he gently slipped them out of their case and began shuffling them—making sure that none of Stan’s trick cards had ‘accidentally’ gotten mixed into the deck.

“No,” said Dipper, smiling. “They’re pretty much the same. Melody, are you in?” he asked her from across the table.

“I guess I can play a couple of hands,” she responded, glancing around the room nervously. Even with everyone supposedly traveling in pairs, she still harbored a deep anxiety about the shapeshifter—since her first interaction with weirdness had been homicidal robots, however, the fear seemed somewhat justified.

“Then I’m in too,” said Soos, returning to his seat.

“Pacifica?” asked Dipper, leaning backwards in his chair until he was looking at her upside down. “What about you?”

“No she’s not!” shouted Mabel, bouncing across the room and crashing into the blonde with a side hug. “We’re going to have another sketching lesson while you gamble away your college money.”

“What college money?” Dipper snorted. “Dad may be a software developer, but we live right outside of San Francisco. It’s not a low cost of living.”

“Bleh,” Mabel said, lightly flicking him on the back of the head and causing him to readjust his cap. “You know that sweet Northwest trust fund is going to pay for it anyway.”

“Good luck getting your hands on that before college,” chuckled Pacifica, rolling her eyes. After college, however, was a different story.

“I’m going upstairs to get my sketchpad,” said Mabel, letting go of Pacifica and crossing the room to the stairs, Waddles trotting faithfully at her heels.

“But dude,” said Soos, looking up at her confusedly. “You heard what Ford said. Take Wendy with you.”

“Oh, come on,” said Mabel, pointing back at the table. “Dipper and Wendy have some catching up to do. Besides, it’s just upstairs—and I have my loyal Waddles to protect me.” She reached down and patted the pig on the butt, causing him to squeal gleefully.

“I still don’t like it, dude,” answered Soos, crossing his arms.

“Well you’ll have to catch me!” said Mabel, turning and sprinting up the stairs. Soos moved to chase her, but sat back down when Dipper shook his head.

“Just let her go,” he said, shuffling the cards with ease, leaning back on two chair legs. “She’ll be gone for thirty seconds. Besides, you’ve been here all day, and Ford checked the house as soon as I told him about the shapeshifter. If something had broken in, we would have heard it.”

“Yeah,” said Soos, gently caressing the handle of his baseball bat, which now sat propped up against the wall. “I just worry about you dudes.” Melody took his hand in hers, and lightly kissed him on the cheek.

“So, Wendy,” said Dipper as he dealt out two cards to everyone on the table—Soos, Melody, Wendy, and himself, leaving two piles of cards untouched for Stan and Ford. “How have things been in Eugene?”

“Not great, if I’m being honest,” she responded, lazily cocking her ushanka to the side. “The outside world is great and all, but I kind of miss Gravity Falls. We had a good little small-town family here for a while.” Pacifica crossed behind her chair as she went to sit back in Stan’s recliner, fake gagging as she did so at Wendy’s sappy nostalgia.

“That hasn’t gone away,” said Dipper, his voice serious. “It’s just different now than it was before. We’ve all grown, and we’ve all changed. For the better, in a lot of ways. I’ve got a girlfriend now—and you finally admitted to your dad that you were dating a girl instead of a guy. That took a lot of courage.” Pacifica’s ears shot up.

This wasn’t something that she had heard before. Since when had Wendy been a lesbian? Pacifica knew that she had dated guys back in Gravity Falls, and had reasonably assumed that she had kept on doing that. No one had told her about the redhead’s official change in persuasion.

Of course, she and Mabel had talked about Wendy’s briefly dating a girl back in their hotel room in Seattle, but that had proven to be little solace for her. The redhead was young, and there was nothing wrong with experimenting—however, the fact that she had started with guys made Pacifica suspect that she was straight at heart, and would soon go back to dating guys.

Even though she disagreed with her father’s opinions on social issues, she couldn’t help herself from thinking like him sometimes. After all, there was nothing morally wrong with thinking like a Northwest, so long as she didn’t act like one.

The fact that Wendy had told her notoriously masculine father about her relationship with a girl, however, changed the game. That must mean that the relationship was fairly serious, and Wendy was settling into a new chapter of her life. It was little wonder, then, that Dipper was so curious about how she was faring in her life outside of Gravity Falls.

Pacifica felt relief blooming through her body, her low-level rage finally subsiding. Finally, there was an explanation for why Dipper felt like he could hang out with Wendy and not jeopardize his relationship with Pacifica. All it took was that one additional puzzle piece of information, and everything seemingly fell into place.

That relief, however, was quickly followed by shame. Pacifica had never actually talked with Dipper about why he wanted to hang out with Wendy so much—she had just become angry and started berating him with no provocation whatsoever. She needed to apologize to Dipper, and likely to Wendy as well. It was not an easy thing for Pacifica to sincerely admit an error, but her practice last night with Candy made her breathe a little easier about it.

“Yeah, well,” chuckled Wendy, though a sad expression was on her face, “I’m not too sure that it’s going to work out with her.” In an instant, the red tide returned within Pacifica’s veins, only made stronger by its recent abatement.

“What? Why?” asked Dipper, seemingly genuinely distraught. He didn’t seem at all pleased by the news, which was reassuring, however slightly, to Pacifica.

“I don’t know man,” said Wendy, leaning back in her chair. “We’ve just been drifting apart for a while. Whenever she comes over to my place, she always just leaves food lying around. I’ve seen the cockroaches quadruple in size since we started being a thing.

“Plus,” she continued, looking around slyly. “I’m not entirely sure that I’m just into girls. I think it may be more of a girls-and-guys situation.”

“Really?” Dipper said, maintaining a more deliberately neutral tone.

“We’ll see,” Wendy said, gently rubbing some loose strands of her hair in between her finger and thumb. “I’m still trying to figure things out.”

“I think it’s great that you’re trying to be honest with yourself,” said Melody, looking around the table. Even though she appeared more relaxed now, the sight of her in the military fatigues was still jarring. “Honesty is the foundation of every good relationship. And if you’re lying to yourself, how could you hope to lie to someone else and get away with it?” As she talked, she started counting out chips for every player at the table.

“The truth always comes out,” said Pacifica, stretching her arms over her head as she leaned back lazily in Stan’s chair. The memory of the hidden paintings within the Northwest Manor flashed within her mind as she made eye contact with both Wendy and Dipper. “Even if you don’t want it to.” Wendy’s gaze didn’t shift, and Dipper was opening his mouth to speak when they all heard the rapid pitter-patter of Mabel’s feet as she ran through the upper hallway and down the stairs.

“How’d I do?” she asked, breathing heavily as she entered the living room, sketchpad and pencils tucked beneath her arm. Waddles, moving far slower, bumbled in after her a few moments later.

“Three minutes,” said Dipper, checking his watch. “A little more than thirty seconds.”

“Sorry,” panted Mabel, plopping down in Stan’s chair alongside Pacifica. Pacifica was pushed to the side, feeling her hips dig into the yellowed fabric and cheap metal frame of the recliner. Thankfully, Mabel was just slender enough that they could sit side-by-side comfortably. “I tried to find some better pencils for us to use this time, but all I have are the Number Two’s. And this weird ‘#10-B’ pencil.”

“’#10-B’?” Pacifica asked in confusion, holding up the slender stick to the light. It appeared to be a perfectly normal pencil, though the wood it was made from seemed darker than standard. The lead glistened in the light. “That’s weird. They don’t make #10-B pencils. The highest on the scale is #9-B.”

“Oh hey!” said Stan as he reentered the room, Ford following close behind him. “You found my lucky pencil. I’ve been looking for this thing for ages!”

“How is it a lucky pencil?” asked Pacifica as she handed him the utensil. He took it from her with his left hand, still bound inside a normal leather glove.

“The graphite in it is extraordinarily hard,” Stan said, before coughing. “It makes it erase real well, for when you need to write something down on a check and then immediately get rid of it!” His hand moved to place the pencil into a jacket pocket, before drifting downwards and tucking it into his pants.

“Okay now, Corduroy,” he continued, turning around and facing the table, where everyone else sat ready to play. “You owe me big time, and I’m coming for you!”

“I’m terrified,” said Wendy coldly—she appeared perfectly unperturbed, with only a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

“You better be,” said Stan, walking around Ford and taking his seat against the wall. He picked up his cards and, after glancing at them, threw a couple of his chips into the pot.

Soos allowed Melody to glance at his cards, and she shook her head. Soos, hanging his head sadly, folded. Melody matched Stan’s bet casually. Ford, on the other hand, appeared stoic as he pushed twenty percent of his chips into the center of the table—he was betting strong right from the start.

Wendy, sitting to Dipper’s right, folded as well. Dipper matched Ford’s bet, as did Stan. Melody withdrew, and the game progressed. Mabel, however, quickly lost interest and started sharpening her pencils with a sharpener made to look like a cat.

“I don’t get why they find that so fun,” said Mabel as she passed a pencil to Pacifica.

“It can be fun,” Pacifica responded. “You just have to be okay with losing money. Which, when you have as much as my family, isn’t that big a deal.” Waddles walked up to Pacifica’s side of the chair and plopped down—this time, feeling a calmer energy in the room, he promptly went to sleep.

“Or you can be a risk-taker like Stan,” chirped Mabel cheerfully. “He once told me that he won his freedom from the Colombian cartel during a very intense game of dominoes.”

“I genuinely can’t tell if he would be joking about that or not,” chuckled Pacifica as she tore two sheets of paper loose from the sketchpad and positioned the hard cover of the book to where they both could bear down on it. “Also,” she informed Mabel, “sometimes, you don’t want a really sharp pencil for sketching. A dull one can help you add cool shadows.” 

“That’s the thing about Stan,” said Mabel, nodding as she casually tucked the used sharpener in between the chair cushions. “You can never tell if he’s serious. He doesn’t lie to people close to him, though.”

“He lied to you, Dipper, Soos, and the entire town for thirty years,” Pacifica fired back quickly.

“I haven’t been alive for thirty years, silly,” said Mabel, booping her on the nose gently with her pencil eraser.

“You know what I mean,” laughed Pacifica, batting Mabel’s pencil away as though it were a miniature swordfight. “Just look at him right now. A master of controlling his expression.” As soon as she said this, Stan threw down his cards in disgust as Ford raked in the pot with a boisterous laugh.

“Most of the time, at least,” said Pacifica, defending herself as Mabel glanced at her with the look of ‘I told you so’ in her eyes. “Now, what is it that you want to sketch this time?”

“How about a face?” suggested Mabel, already beginning to draw an oval. Behind her, another round of betting began. Wendy folded immediately, though everyone else was in.

“Faces are really difficult,” said Pacifica, wanting to take things slower with her new pupil. When Mabel showed no signs of slowing down, however, she merely shrugged and began her own sketch.

“You know that I’m right about the lying thing, though,” whispered Pacifica, wanting to make her point known. “You think you know someone for a long time, and then they can completely surprise you. I’m sure that you’re still keeping some secrets from me too.”

“Pacifica,” said Mabel, glancing up at her. “I’ve milked a dog and committed numerous crimes on camera. I have nothing to hide.”

“Fair enough,” admitted Pacifica. Perhaps Mabel hadn’t been the best example. “But take Ford over there. He blows the game last night, and now he’s raking in cash like he runs the casino.” Ford laughed yet again as his pile grew higher still.

“He and Stan are more alike than either of them want to admit,” said Mabel, slowly adding guidelines as she attempted to mimic Pacifica’s sketch.

“Well, it’s not just outright lying,” continued Pacifica. “Sometimes it’s about someone telling the truth for so long that you forget what that truth really implies. Then, when you find out about it, it just… breaks your world. I know all about that.”

“Your parents?” asked Mabel quietly. Pacifica nodded in confirmation, blinking as she looked over to check Mabel’s sketch. For some reason, they seemed to have mutually agreed that they should sketch Wendy.

“They told me for so long that the Northwests were great,” said Pacifica, bearing down harder on her pencil as she added firmer lines to her rough sketch. “And they weren’t wrong—the Northwests are great. They are prosperous, and they donate money, and they throw killer parties. But they always left out that our wealth comes from centuries of lies. It just… puts everything in a new light once you find out.” Their conversation was interrupted by a slight commotion at the poker table.

“Come on Wendy, what are you doing?” chuckled Ford, lightly poking her as she folded at the beginning of another hand. “I thought you were going to take us all to the cleaners.”

“Oh, I will,” said Wendy, tossing her two cards back and forth quickly between her hands. “I’m just biding my time until the cards are right.”

“Then we’ll all just fold whenever you start playing,” said Dipper, shaking his head. “Sometimes, it’s good to play even when you know you’ll lose.”

“I play the game my way,” said Wendy, icily. “And you play it yours.” That silenced Dipper, who tossed some additional chips into the pile.

“She’s just angry she’s not winning,” said Mabel under her breath as she turned back to her sketching. “But Pacifica, at least you get good parties. That’s something.”

“It is something,” mumbled Pacifica. “But they get old after a while.”

“How does the Christmas Eve Party compare to the Northwest Fest?” asked Mabel, curious. “You never mentioned the Christmas one before this year, when you got a date.”

“Wow,” chuckled Pacifica to herself as she looked at Mabel’s drawing. “You’re a lot worse at this when you were last night. Who is that? Elmo?”

“Hey, you said faces were hard!” protested Mabel, pouting.

“I know, I know,” laughed Pacifica, gently leaning against her. “I’m sure mine isn’t good either. I’m wearing these stupid goggles, after all.

“But, to answer your question about the party… it’s definitely a lot smaller than the Northwest Fest. It’s mostly family, but there are a few close associates.”

“So no cute boys?” asked Mabel, disappointed.

“Well, I didn’t say that,” replied Pacifica slyly. “There is one who I would actually call attractive.”

“Ooh, what’s his name?” asked Mabel, furiously erasing as she tried to improve her sketch.

“Sam,” said Pacifica, seeing no harm in telling Mabel. “His family lives in South Carolina, but he’s turned out okay for a rich brat. Kind of like me.”

“South Carolina?” mumbled Mabel in disgust. “I don’t know how I feel about that. I have… a complicated relationship with country music.”

“Why?” chuckled Pacifica. “It’s objectively awful.”

“Sure,” acknowledged Mabel. “From an artistic perspective. But it comes from the heart, and I can’t hate it for that.”

“That’s fair,” admitted Pacifica. “But, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think that Sam likes country music either.”

“I don’t suppose that I could get an invitation this time?” said Mabel, looking at Pacifica with pleading eyes.

“Nope,” said Pacifica, not even considering the possibility. “Like I said, the Christmas party is smaller than the Northwest Fest, which means it’s harder for me to get people in. Our ancestors never made a promise to let the common folk into this one. Getting Dipper in is going to be tough enough, and we’re dating!”

“That explains why I’ve never heard of it,” said Mabel, beginning to add more detail to the freckles on her sketch.

“It may still be on the news if you want to check, though,” said Pacifica, gesturing towards the television. “Even though it’s a smaller party, my parents insist on buying all of the tinsel in Gravity Falls for it. They revel in creating a fresh tinsel shortage every year.”

“No wonder I couldn’t find any at the mall today,” said Mabel as she took a break from her sketch and started to fumble for the remote. “Hey, Grunkle Stan, have you seen the remote?” she asked across the room.

“I think it’s in between the cushions, sweetie,” answered Stan as Ford shifted in his seat. “Come on, Ford!” he followed up. “You can’t keep dragging me over the coals like this.” Pacifica was unable to see Ford’s face from her seat, but imagined a smirk upon it.

Mabel stuck her tongue out thoughtfully as she dug for the remote. Finding it, she angled it at the receiver and clicked it on. A static buzz filled the room as the picture resolved, already tuned to the news.

True to Pacifica’s word, there was an infographic in the upper right of the screen with a downward pointing arrow labeled ‘Tinsel Supply.” It was small wonder that Soos had decided to make his own. As Mabel clicked the volume higher, however, the story changed as the voice of Shandra Jiminez drifted into the room.

“In other news,” she stated, police tape flashing across the screen, “authorities are reporting the theft of a silver truck from the home of Manly Dan Corduroy. Here is Deputy Durland with further details.”

“Thank you, Shondra,” began Deputy Durland, as the screen shifted to show a live feed of the Corduroy cabin. He held his hat to his chest, as though he were giving a eulogy at a funeral. Sheriff Blubs could be seen in the background, investigating the shallow divots that had been left in the blanket of snow.

“Shandra,” she corrected, before Durland continued.

“Well, Shondra, what we appear to have here is a classic case of grand theft automobile. From what we can reckon, whoever it was snuck away with the vehicle right around when the snow started. The snow covered the tracks, so we’re not going to be able to find it,” reported Durland.

“Thank you, Deputy Durland,” said Shandra, exasperated as she rolled her eyes, “for destroying what little faith I have left in the competency of this town’s law enforcement system.”

“You’re right welcome Shondra,” replied Durland before returning his hat to his head and walking towards the Corduroy cabin. The camera lingered on the snowy scene for an unusual amount of time before finally clicking away.


	15. Compromised

Pacifica slowly turned her head, observing the room.

Everyone had frozen. Soos, who had been in the middle of flipping a card over, looked up with fear in his eyes. Melody’s expression had hardened to steel, and Dipper’s face wore a look of fright. Stan’s eyes were half-narrowed, and Ford leaned slightly away from Wendy. Pacifica, sitting next to Mabel, felt her muscles tense. Wendy showed no reaction.

In an instant, the room exploded into chaos. Stan shot up from his chair, picking up the table and flipping it forwards. Floating cards and clattering chips showered across the room as Dipper fell backwards out of his chair and Ford quickly stepped to the right, reaching for his syringe gun. Wendy, caught off guard by the sudden burst of motion, grunted as the table collapsed down onto her and pinned her to the ground.

Mabel, taking advantage of the flurry of activity on the other side of the room, rocketed out of the chair and took shelter behind it with Waddles, dragging Pacifica with her. The pig, rudely awoken from his nap, squealed in confusion, though quickly grew silent when Mabel clamped a hand over his mouth.

“What the hell?” said Wendy, coughing and wheezing as she struggled to push the table off of her chest, allowing her to breathe.

“You’re the shapeshifter,” said Stan, slipping the brass knuckles onto his gloved hands. “That’s what the hell.” Melody had drawn her pistol and had it pointed at Wendy, though her finger was off the trigger. Soos had grabbed his baseball bat, holding it ready to swing, while Dipper had scrambled to his feet with no weapon.

“Okay, first off, I’m not,” said Wendy, finally able to push the table off of her and slip her slim figure out from beneath it. Panting heavily from the exertion, she stood up slowly, though she was still doubled over from the pressure. “I thought we proved this already.”

“We did,” said Ford, standing still. “But then the news told us that a truck had been stolen from your father’s house, and you didn’t even react. Almost like you didn’t recognize your own name.”

“I didn’t hear it!” pleaded Wendy, slowly backing up. She ran her sleeve across her lips, wiping away her dripping saliva, stained pink. “You know I don’t pay attention to things.”

“She is a teenager, dudes,” said Soos, slightly lowering his bat.

“Yeah, I’m with Wendy on this,” said Dipper, standing up fully and walking to stand next to the redhead. “We may have been skeptical at the beginning, but this Wendy has said things that only the real Wendy would know. And, she’s wearing different clothes, which we know the shapeshifter can’t replicate. Plus, she got here well after it started snowing, which is when the news said the car was stolen. It’s probably just a bad coincidence.”

“Dipper, step away from her,” said Stan authoritatively, fumbling for something in his shirt pocket but failing to grab it.

“Hey, hey hey,” said Wendy, her voice increasing to a shout. “Since we’re throwing around accusations, what makes you think that you’re so clean? You can’t even find your pockets—like you’re having trouble getting used to your body or something.”

“Yeah,” said Melody, turning her head to look at Stan suspiciously, though her pistol remained locked on Wendy. “Plus, you’re still wearing gloves while we’re playing cards. And you came in here talking all fancy about your special pencil—the Stan I know doesn’t know jack shit about pencil lead.” 

“And what about Mabel?” continued Wendy, pointing back at the cowering girls. “She went upstairs for three minutes with no partner. That thing could have snuck in through a crack and replaced her, and we’d have no idea!” Pacifica slowly sidled away from Mabel as Wendy spoke. The redhead sounded angry and delirious—but she had just been attacked by her closest friends, and she did have a point.

“And what about Grunkle Ford’s suddenly great poker skills?!” accused Dipper loudly, stepping towards Ford. “That is, if you really are Grunkle Ford!” Soos’s eyes darted around the room confusedly.

“Dipper, back away,” warned Ford as he slid his finger over the trigger of his syringe. “No one here is going to be attacking anyone right now. Wendy, this is your one chance to leave. If you don’t, we’re going to tie you up and put you underground until we can find a way to tell if you’re the shapeshifter or not.”

“Listen,” said Wendy, raising her hands—everyone immediately refocused on her. Melody kept one eye on Stan, while Soos occasionally glanced at Mabel. No one seemed to be questioning Ford, though they were mostly distracted by the frightening cobalt gleam of his syringe. “In this snowstorm, putting me out on those roads is a death sentence. Plus, I’ve fought this thing before—you’re going to need my expertise to take it down.” Everyone slightly relaxed at her defense of herself.

“Then we’ll untie you when we need you,” said Stan, brandishing his knuckles threateningly.

“You’re not going to tie me up either,” warned Wendy. “I’m a Corduroy, and I’m the daughter of the best lumberjack in Oregon. I’m not going to put up with this.” She crouched and looked around the room, seemingly preparing for what she needed to do if attacked. Pacifica tensed her muscles, ready to move quickly if the need arose—be that into the middle of a fight or out into the snowstorm.

“Look guys,” said Dipper, stepping in between Wendy and the four adults clustered around the table. “You’re all threatening her right now, so it makes sense for her to be scared. I saw her take down a whole gang of bikers during Weirdmageddon, so she could probably take us too. Maybe we can reach a compromise?”

“What are you proposing?” asked Stan, slowly lowering his fists. Everyone else stayed in their ready positions.

“We don’t have to tie her up,” said Dipper, looking back and forth between the two parties. He made brief eye contact with Pacifica, who remained behind the chair—he swallowed. “But Wendy, you have to admit that this does make you look suspicious. I believe you, but we have to convince everyone else too.” Wendy slowly straightened up, nodding her head in agreement.

“We won’t tie you up,” continued Dipper, “but we are going to have to lock you in a room alone. We’ll calibrate Ford’s more sensitive weirdness detecting equipment in his lab, and then we’ll take you down there and get an official reading. That should tell us what we need to know.”

Dipper looked around the room, seeing who all agreed with his plan. Everyone nodded except for Stan, who shook his head—seeming to express more disapproval than disagreement.

Pacifica felt slightly conflicted about this—as much as she wanted to cast the redhead out into the snow, for reasons both public and personal, she did recognize how dangerous the roads were right now. To keep everyone as safe as possible, this seemed a happy medium. Waddles oinked in concern.

Slowly, everyone lowered their weapons. Stan let his arms hang limply by his sides, while Ford stowed his syringe back into his jacket. Soos propped the baseball bat back up against the wall as Melody holstered her pistol. A smile spread across Dipper’s face as Mabel and Pacifica emerged from behind the chair, their half-finished sketches laying crumpled on the floor.

“I do have one condition though,” said Wendy. Everyone froze anew as she spoke. “I get to pick the room.” A halfhearted chuckle echoed among the occupants of the room at her typical humor. Compared to a mere few moments before, the room was now at relative ease, the only signs of the previous confrontation being the overturned tables and scattered cards and chips.

“I think we can manage that,” said Dipper, stepping forward and hugging Wendy as she tucked a few stray hairs back behind her ears. Pacifica felt a well of anger rising up at being ignored—especially since Wendy had just seemingly reopened the door on a potential relationship with Dipper.

Pacifica felt Mabel’s hand give hers a gentle squeeze of reassurance, as though to say that they had bigger problems to deal with at the moment. Pacifica took a deep breath—Mabel was right. Squeezing back, affirming that she had received the message, Pacifica released Mabel’s hand and stepped forward to her boyfriend. He broke away from Wendy and turned to face her, though his shoulder remained in contact with the redhead’s.

She extended her arms and wrapped him up in a hug, blinking back tears from her eyes—it had been a very intense day, and she was nearing her breaking point. The thumping of Dipper’s heart reassured her, though the loudness of it spoke to how nervous he was as well. Suddenly, Pacifica felt a thump on her back as Mabel bounded across the room to join the group hug, squeezing tightly.

Pacifica looked up as she felt Dipper’s head move, the gentle scrape of his burgeoning stubble across her forehead. She watched as he beckoned for Wendy to join the hug as well, causing the redhead to roll her eyes and smirk. Trapped between Dipper and Mabel, Pacifica couldn’t object as Wendy extended her arms around the trio.

Pressed tightly against Dipper’s torso, her legs interlaced with his, Pacifica felt the gentle buzz of his phone as a chime rang out across the room. 

As the biggest one there, Dipper easily broke free from the hug and slipped his phone out of his pocket. Pacifica, still trapped between Mabel and Wendy, watched as he brought the screen up to his face and saw his expression shift rapidly—sliding from happiness, to confusion, to fear, to resolve.

“What is it?” she asked, trying to squirm free from in between the two other girls—Wendy’s arms were like steel from years of outdoor training, while Mabel’s natural hugging capacity was simply off the charts. Dipper said nothing as he walked over to Ford and showed him the screen. Pacifica, sensing that something was wrong, started to struggle more vigorously. Dipper turned, showing his phone to Soos, Melody, and Stan in turn.

When she saw Ford pull his jacket open and reach for the syringe, Pacifica panicked. Unable to force her way free from the hug, she inhaled sharply and let out an ear piercing scream. Waddles raced squealing out of the room as Wendy and Mabel both fell away from her, covering their ears in pain. Pacifica lurched forwards and hid behind Dipper.

Soos, moving with a flexibility that no one could have anticipated, hurdled over the table and picked Mabel off of the ground like a football. Continuing past Wendy, he carried Mabel straight out of the door on the other side of the room, taking shelter on the stairs. Stan lifted his knuckles as Ford slid his finger over the trigger of his needle.

“The jig’s up, Shifty,” announced Stan to the room, stepping forward to confront Wendy.

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Wendy, backing up against the television. “I thought we were just going to lock me up for a little bit? I told you that I’m not the shapeshifter!”

“Then explain to me why I just got a text message from Wendy!” exclaimed Dipper, stepping forward in anger before a steady hand from Ford reeled him back in. “She said that the snowstorm caused a traffic jam and that she’ll be late getting here! Explain that! Show me your phone!” Pacifica had seen him scream before, but never shout—not like this.

Wendy, a panicked look on her face, started fumbling in her pockets for her phone, patting herself when she couldn’t find it.

“I… I left it in my truck!” she exclaimed, turning to face the door. “I’ll go get it, and then you’ll all see how ridiculous you’re being!” However, as she began to walk out of the room, Soos appeared in front of the external door, smacking his baseball bat against his palm. He had taken off his Mr. Mystery jacket, just like Stan, and stood firm. Mabel, sheltered behind him and holding her grappling hook at the ready, completely blocked the exit.

Behind Wendy, Stan and Ford stepped up, closing off her access to the gift shop and the vending machine. Ford passed the syringe to Stan and drew his own pistol.

“You do this,” said Ford as Stan began to slowly advance. “You’re better with it than I am.”

“You’re really going to shoot poison into me!??!” begged Wendy. “I’ve worked here before! You all know me!”

“I don’t know you at all,” said Stan, flexing his knees and lunging forward. The silver needle traced an arc in the air, lancing towards Wendy’s chest.

In a second, she had dodged to the side and stepped up onto Stan’s chair, causing him to stumble and fall forwards. She moved like a blur, years of lumberjack training giving her an almost unnatural speed. A crack like lightning rang through the air as Ford fired his pistol, barely missing over Wendy’s shoulder. She looked at him in disbelief as the shot ruptured the fish tank, sending a cascading wave of water and shattered glass across the carpet.

Pacifica sprinted along the left side of the room and ducked into the kitchen, fumbling in a drawer for a knife—Ford had said that blades would be useless, but she wanted to have something. Dipper followed closely behind her, reaching into his bag for the magnet gun and shorn rivets from earlier in the day at Omega.

Back in the living room, distracted by Ford’s shot, Wendy was caught off guard as a spine-shattering swing of Soos’s bat landed directly on her back. She lurched forward with a grunt, briefly stunned as she tumbled to the ground, collapsing onto Stan.

Stan, older as he was, had a tougher time scrambling to his feet after he had fallen earlier. With Wendy on top of him, however, he had a renewed burst of energy as he grabbed the syringe and attempted to stab her with it. She rolled to the side at the last second, wincing as her palms landed on the fine shards of broken glass.

As Wendy got to his feet, she was pushed backwards by the impact of Mabel’s grappling hook landing square in her chest. She tripped over the table, tumbling to the ground at Melody’s feet. Melody quickly placed a combat boot on her shoulder, holding the exhausted and traumatized teen in place as she pointed the pistol at her forehead.

“Come on Stan,” said Melody. “This pistol isn’t going to do anything. Get over here and inject her before she gets any bright ideas.”

Stan slowly lurched to his feet, sopping wet from the water that had poured from the fish tank. The syringe glistened in his hand as he walked over to the table and peered over it. Wendy tried to squirm away, screaming in fear, but couldn’t escape Melody’s firm hold. Bracing himself, Stan started lowering the needle towards the redhead.

“Wait!” shouted Dipper defensively, stepping into the room. Pacifica, clutching a knife, stayed behind him. “If she really is the shapeshifter, why hasn’t she been transforming to fight us?”

“It wants to keep us empathetic, that’s why!” exclaimed Stan, loudly.

“I’m just trying to keep us from making a mistake!” continued Dipper. “If we inject her with this and it turns out to be the real Wendy, there’s no bringing her back to life. None of us want that.” The syringe lifted slightly as Stan looked over his shoulder at Ford. Ford looked at Dipper in disbelief. Dipper glanced back at Pacifica—her icy eyes wide with fear, even obscured as they were by the goggles.

Wendy saw an opportunity—Melody’s boot had slightly relaxed, and she wasn’t going to wait around as her friends made the decision about whether or not to execute her. She swung her legs out, kicking against the overturned table and causing Stan to tumble backwards. The force tearing her shoulder out from beneath Melody, Wendy rolled to her stomach, wincing at the pressure of the floor against her cut and sliced hands.

Melody pulled the trigger on her pistol, but missed as Wendy shot forward, leaping up and hurdling through the air towards Dipper. The only person who was on her side, she seemed to be seeking shelter behind him. Pacifica, however, reacted on pure instinct.

Pushing Dipper to the side, the magnet gun falling from his hand with a clatter, she winced as she held up the gleaming blade of her knife—and heard a sickening squelch as Wendy’s stomach sank onto it.

She opened her eyes, finding Wendy’s face mere inches away from hers, the redhead’s mouth opened in shock and disbelief. They both looked down, finding the blade penetrating Wendy’s abdomen down to the handle. Pacifica let go with a yelp, stepping backwards and looking at Dipper, whose expression was one of abject horror. The room was frozen as Wendy stumbled, about to collapse to the ground.

“Well,” she gasped out as she wrapped her hands around the knife. With a terrible sucking sound, she pulled the blade out cleanly. No blood poured from the wound. “I guess it was worth a shot,” she chuckled, her voice deepening and warping as femininity was replaced by monstrosity, and fear by rage.

“Get back!” shouted Dipper as he charged forwards, tackling Pacifica to the kitchen floor, safe behind an interior wall. Sheltered beneath his body, she could only hear the chaos in the other room redouble as everyone sprang to motion.

“Are you okay?” Dipper whispered to her. She nodded in confirmation—Dipper, now satisfied, leapt to his feet and rolled back to where had been previously, grabbing his magnet gun as he did so. He got up on one knee and pointed it into the living room.

Stan immediately charged for Wendy, but was blown backwards as she started to morph and inflate in size, tearing the plaid shirt she wore into pitiful scraps of fabric. Her angular face melted away like wax in a fire, freckles and eyes dissolving into an amorphous mass of jelly and teeth. Ford fired his pistol at the creature, the laser blasting clean through what remained of Wendy’s body. However, just as he had predicted, the shapeshifter appeared none the worse for wear as its thin, filmy skin immediately reformed over the wound.

The shapeshifter stood in his full glory, head scraping against the ceiling, disproportionate and malformed arms reaching across the room. Pacifica lay on the floor behind it, while Dipper had his magnet gun at the ready. Stan was hunched over, winded from being thrown against the wall. Soos and Melody stood with fearful expressions, bat and pistol ready to be used at a moment’s notice. Mabel, reloading her grappling hook, guarded the outside door. Ford had his gun trained on the creature’s face, a steely look in his eyes. He couldn’t defeat it, but he could slow it down.

“I’m surprised it took you this long to figure it out,” bellowed the shapeshifter, mocking Ford directly. “All I had to do was accidently stumble upon that Corduroy house and peek in that insufferable girl’s window, and I knew everything that I needed to know to trick you all. I even picked up a costume change while I was there!” Dipper briefly closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Why would you come here, then!?!” shouted Stan in response. Ford stood there, stoically silent. “You could have gotten away easily. You’re smarter than this.”

“I came for your brother,” growled the shapeshifter, its skin beginning to quiver as it changed forms. “After keeping me trapped underground for thirty-four years, I think it’s time for a little payback. Plus, now that I know you have a teleportation engine underground, I’ve got my ticket to the outside world!”

Pacifica watched in horror as the slimy back of the creature erupted into a mass of tentacles, lashing out and wrapping around Dipper’s limbs, lifting him up and pulling him into the living room, screaming. The magnet gun fell out of his grasp as his wrist was twisted back painfully.

“Plus, I have a grudge to settle with your little protégé as well!” Slamming Dipper onto the ground, the creature sinuously twisted around, the tips of its tentacles morphing to become as hard as stone, and sharp as razors.

Flailing around like whips, they started to score notches into the support beams of the house, causing it to creak and groan under its own weight. The pressure of the snow from the roof added stress to the frame, pushing it ever closer to the point of collapse. Soos glanced around with a worried expression, running over the blueprints of the Shack in his mind to figure out how much damage it could take before it imploded.

Pacifica stood there helplessly, unable to get close enough to Dipper to drag him to safety, the barbed tentacles creating an almost impenetrable wall of thorns. Dipper screamed as one of the tentacles caught his arm, gouging a bloody gash into his muscle. Pacifica whimpered.

“Back away from him!” commanded Ford, beginning to fire rapidly at the shapeshifter. Melody did so as well, Pacifica diving to the floor to stay underneath their blasts.

Any holes left in the shapeshifter were immediately patched, but the impacts were still painful. Drawing in the tentacles with a screech, the skin of the creature hardened to become a stony shield, the impacts of the lasers now leaving little more than scorch marks on the rock.

“Enough of this,” the shapeshifter hissed. Swinging its arm about and redirecting its biomass to the claw, it turned its limb into a warhammer that slammed directly into Ford’s chest, bashing him against the wall and leaving a crack in the supports. Ford, choking, collapsed to the ground and started to cough, spitting up crimson blood.

“Grunkle Ford!” screamed Mabel from across the room as the rope of her grappling hook wrapped around a ceiling rafter. Swinging through the air, she rocketed towards the shapeshifter and collided with its head with a mighty kick. The impact forced the shapeshifter to trip over the overturned table, collapsing to the floor.

Instead of struggling to its feet, the shapeshifter simply morphed its head and limbs to opposite sides of its body. Mabel was still dangling from the ceiling when the beast lit itself aflame, sending a pulse of heat careening across the room.

“Foolish girl!” shouted the shapeshifter as it reeled back like a pitcher on the mound. Everyone except for the unconscious Ford screamed in terror as a burst of flame shot from the monster’s arm and hurtled through the air towards Mabel, who clung to her grappling hook with her legs drawn up to her chest.

Suddenly, Pacifica felt a kick on her shoulder as Waddles charged from behind her, leaping into the air with a mighty squeal. The firebolt lanced across the pig’s back as he howled in pain. The flames dissipated harmlessly around the screaming Mabel, tears flowing from her eyes as Waddles dropped to the ground with a hard thud.

As the shapeshifter extinguished itself, Soos, Stan, and Melody stepped up to it, their eyes burning with rage. Pacifica took advantage of the brief lull to lunge into the living room and grab Dipper’s shoulders, dragging him to safety. Mabel, hunched crying over Waddles, did the same, lifting the shallowly breathing pig and carrying him to the kitchen. Ford was too far away for them to rescue.

The adults advanced on the shapeshifter, Stan holding the syringe at the ready. Still laughing, the creature bent backwards as a mouth opened up on its stomach, morphing into a massive, cloudy eyed frog. Its tongue lanced forward, catching Melody on the shoulder and sending her hurtling across the room.

“No one hurts my family!” bellowed Soos, slamming the baseball bat down on the monster’s tongue, pinching it between the wood of the bat and the wood of the overturned table. For a brief moment, the creature winced—that moment was all that Stan needed.

Falling to the side, he pinned the creature’s tongue to the ground and stabbed the syringe deeply into it. He pulled the trigger, sending the potent toxin into the neural jelly.

The effect was immediate—the shapeshifter howled in pain as the front end of the frog began to dissolve, exposing the sickly pink of the jelly inside, quickly turning a liquid gray. Struggling to control itself, it morphed back into its natural form, ever smaller for losing the jelly inside of itself.

With a bounding leap, using its massive arms, it vaulted over the table and barreled straight through the back door, blowing it off of its hinges. Stan, sitting in a pool of melted jelly, tried to catch his breath as Soos helped Melody to her feet. Pacifica and Mabel both looked over their soulmates, trying to keep them conscious. The shapeshifter vanished away into the night, hidden by the darkness and snow.

Slowly, Stan lurched to his feet. Dropping the syringe and removing his brass knuckles, he finally drew off his gloves, revealing six fingers beneath them. He rustled his hair back into position and coughed, speaking now as Ford, who he truly was.

He walked over to Stan, who lay crumpled on the floor in Ford’s coat, having taken the hit for him yet again. He was unconscious, and blood slowly dripped from his open mouth. He was breathing, but Ford could tell simply from feeling his torso that he had several broken ribs.

“Soos, come help me,” he ordered, Soos leaving Melody along as they lifted Stan to his feet with their shoulders. “We’ve got to get him to a doctor.”

“Aren’t you a doctor, Ford sir?” asked Soos genuinely. The sooner that Stan got medical attention, the better.

“Yes,” said Ford, grunting under his brother’s weight. “But not that kind of doctor—I got sucked through into the nightmare realm before I could finish that degree. And besides, we need medical supplies that I don’t have here.”

“What about Waddles?” said Mabel, pouring a cup of cold water over the pig’s burn, tears mixing with it as it flowed over Waddles’s back. The shapeshifter’s attack had left a gash an inch deep, and half a foot long. It glistened with blood and fat in the twinkling light of the kitchen.

“And Dipper?” begged Pacifica. She had a towel pressed against his injury, but it was rapidly becoming saturated with blood. Dipper was alive, and had sustained worse wounds before, but he was clearly disoriented.

“Bring them as well,” Ford said authoritatively. Pacifica helped Dipper to his feet.

“I can walk,” said Dipper, waving her away and holding the bloody towel against his arm. “You help Mabel with Waddles.”

“Melody, get Stan’s car cranked up,” ordered Ford. Melody vaulted into the kitchen and scooped the keys out of a bowl, walking out into the snowstorm—the door, laying loose in the snow outside, would remain detached for now.

“Pacifica,” said Ford, turning to the blonde as she helped to lift Waddles from the ground. “Give Dipper’s keys to Soos. He’ll drive Francine.”

“But it’s snowing,” asked Pacifica, confusedly. “The roads were slick when Dipper and I were coming back from Omega, so they’d be much worse now. Won’t it be really dangerous?”

“It will be,” replied Ford as he led the way out into the snow with Soos. Pacifica and Mabel followed behind them with Waddles, and Dipper brought up the rear. Stan’s feet dangled limply into the powder, leaving two deep trenches behind.

“But I’m not going to lose Stanley like this,” Ford choked. “He saved me once. Now it’s my turn to save him.”


	16. Hospital

The time, 9:02 PM, shone dimly from Francine’s amber radio as the truck slid to a stop in front of the Gravity Falls Medical Center, throwing up a wave of snow. ‘Medical Center’ was perhaps a generous term—in reality, it was a simple two-story structure made out of cinder blocks, though all of the medical equipment inside was up to date. The medical staff believed that appearances didn’t matter, so long as it didn’t impact the quality of care that they could provide.

All of the lights within the building were off, and the doctor was on his way to his car, having just locked up for the night. The pale yellow glow of the streetlights were all that illuminated the scene, the moon and stars obscured by the clouds above.

“Dr. Louis!” exclaimed Soos, opening his door and hopping out into the snow. “We’ve got a serious medical emergency on our hands here!” The older doctor turned around—Pacifica recognized him, having seen him around town before. He had dark skin and a long mustache, coupled with a bald head and an embarrassing attempt at a combover.

“Did you burn yourself in your break room again, Soos?” he asked, exasperated. “I told you not to play around those steam pipes. I’m closed for the night—come back tomorrow morning, and I’ll look at you then.”

“It’s not Soos!” said Pacifica, opening the passenger door and jumping out. “We’ve got a cut boy, a burned pig, and an elderly man with blunt force trauma coming in!”

“Ms. Northwest?” asked Dr. Louis, confused, unable to recognize her through the welding goggles. “What are you talking about? I thought your family had a private doctor at the clinic on the other side of town.”

“We do,” she said, rolling her eyes and trudging through the snow to the other side of the truck. She opened the door, allowing Dipper to lurch out and fall to the ground with a thud. Seeing the bloodstained towel, Dr. Louis immediately turned and reopened the main door to the clinic, flipping on the interior lights. “But unfortunately, he’s out of town at the moment, so you’re our only hope.”

“Of course,” said Dr. Louis, rushing forward to take Dipper by the arm.

“Wait!” said Mabel, scooting over to the open door with Waddles breathing heavily on her lap. “Take care of my pig first!”

“I beg your pardon, Miss,” said Dr. Louis, looking at her in surprise. “This is a doctor’s office. For people. I didn’t go the University of Alabama Medical School just to operate on animals like some lowly veterinarian.”

“Treat the pig!” said Ford loudly, Melody slamming on the brakes as their car skidded to a stop. Soos had plowed a path on the icy roadways with Francine, and Melody followed close behind him—Ford had stayed in the back of the car with Stan. Stan, still wearing Ford’s jacket, had regained consciousness briefly on the ride there before passing out again.

“What is happening?” shouted Dr. Lewis into the snowstorm. “Is there anyone else injured here that I should know about?”

“No,” replied Dipper, shaking his head.

“I mean, my wife got punched in the shoulder by a giant frog monster,” said Soos, pointing to Melody. She stared daggers at him—her minor injury was not the most important one right now. Dr. Louis rushed over to the car as he saw Melody and Ford struggling to pull the unconscious Stan from the backseat. 

“Oh my,” he said, looking at the blood spilling from Stan’s mouth and nose. “Bring him in immediately. Soos, help the girl with the pig. I’ll work on Stan first, then the pig, then the boy, then the lady who got punched in the shoulder.”

“Her name is Melody,” said Soos as he lifted Waddles, Mabel wrapping her hand around his front left hoof. His eyes were closed. “We’ve been here before.”

“Soos, I’m the doctor for more than half this town,” chastised Dr. Louis. “It’s late at night, and I can’t remember everyone. For now, the most important thing is to do what I say.”

Dipper held the door open for everyone as they returned inside, Dr. Louis leading the way. They immediately made their way upstairs to the overnight rooms. Dipper, looking warily out into the snow, locked the door behind them. He felt Pacifica gently wrap her arms around him, causing him to wince at the pressure. Even though his arm had sustained the most serious damage, being slammed to the floor by the shapeshifter hadn’t helped matters.

“Are you okay?” whispered Pacifica as she took his uninjured arm and led him gently up the stairs. She knew that it was a foolish question, but couldn’t think of what else to say.

“What did you have to drink?” asked Dipper, before he responded.

“Champagne,” whispered Pacifica, smiling at him. Dipper grinned weakly in response. “Besides, that thing is probably frozen by now. It had the poison in it and was dissolving even before it ran out into the storm.” As she spoke, she reached up and pulled off the welding glasses, leaving a thin red indentation behind on her face. Since Dipper didn’t object, she assumed that it would be okay to leave her face uncovered for now—it did, after all, make seeing much easier.

“I just wanted to be sure,” he said, resting more of his weight on her. “To answer your question, though—no, I am not okay.”

“I know,” said Pacifica quietly as they passed the two doors on the upper hallway.

The door on the right led to a room with cool, blue-grey walls and a white tile floor. It had two hospital beds in it—Waddles lay in the one closest to the door, with Mabel gently rubbing his ears while Soos patted her on the back. Melody sat in the corner, glancing from the window to the bed, and back again. After a few moments, she stood up and pulled the curtains shut.

Dr. Louis, Ford, and Stan were in the other one. Stan lay shirtless, eyes closed, on an X-ray table while Ford and Dr. Louis wore lead aprons, sheltered behind a glass window. A flash of light emanated through the window.

Three chairs sat on either side of the hallway next to the doors, illuminated by long fluorescent lights that flickered unpredictably and seemed to drain the color out of the room, making everyone appear pale, preserved, and sallow. Pacifica gently sat down next to the room with the hospital beds, pulling Dipper onto the chair next to her. She removed his hand from the bloody towel and started applying pressure herself.

“It was my fault,” said Dipper, tearing away from her and burying his face in his hands. “This is all my fault. If I had listened to you and Chutzpar in the first place, the shapeshifter never would have gotten out of Omega. And if I had been rational at the Shack, I never would have let that… thing inside. I put everyone in danger.”

“Not intentionally,” reassured Pacifica, gently rubbing his back. “You wanted to do the right thing both times. You wanted to show me a really cool place, and get supplies for Ford. And then, all you wanted to do was see Wendy. It wasn’t just you… we did all take a vote to let her in.”

“But I kept arguing for her, even when I knew, on some level, that it couldn’t have been her. Even when we found out about the stolen car, and when she started accusing everybody else.”

“She was kind of right, though,” said Pacifica, shrugging. “Mabel had been gone for a long time, and both Ford and Stan were acting strange.”

“That’s just because they had switched places again,” murmured Dipper. “They must have done that in the lab. Ford knew that he would be the first one the shapeshifter attacked if it showed up, and Stan volunteered to take that hit so Ford could finish the job.”

“They have a very weird way of loving each other,” laughed Pacifica lightly, trying to keep her boyfriend’s spirits up, even though he was woozy from blood loss. “They fight all the time, but they’d die for each other. You can see how much they care, even in their fights. I wish that I had someone like that.”

“You don’t think I’m like that?” asked Dipper, looking back at her desperately. “You don’t think that I’d defend you?”

Pacifica opened her mouth to respond, but was cut short by Dr. Louis crossing the hallway to retrieve the empty hospital bed, the one closest to the window. Ford, a harried expression on his face, passed by the two of them as he went to the supply closet to retrieve an IV bag, stand, and a roll of bandages and gauze for his brother—he didn’t even seem to notice them.

“Maybe not die for me,” whispered Pacifica. “Which I totally get, by the way. I mean, you’ve saved my life a lot before, but I don’t think I’d be worth you. Figuratively, at least. Literally, I am absolutely worth more than you are,” she smirked.

“I have died for you before, though,” pointed out Dipper. “I got turned into a tree. It wasn’t a memorable evening, so I understand if you forgot,” he continued sarcastically, though there was the slightest bit of edge in his voice.

“And for Mabel. And Grenda. And Candy. And all the other people who had been trapped in trees like some kind of edelwood situation,” rebutted Pacifica.

“Still, I think I’d do it when the time came,” said Dipper, returning his arm to Pacifica and letting her apply pressure. “There’s no way to know, of course, but it’s the kind of dramatic gesture that really confirms that you love someone.”

“Grand gestures aren’t enough, though,” replied Pacifica as the two men returned to the X-ray room with their respective supplies. “It’s not enough to pull something amazing every so often and act like everything’s okay. You have to be consistent, dependable. If you go too long without making a person feel like they matter… they may start to think that they don’t.”

“And how do you do that?” asked Dipper, genuinely curious. “I mean, I think that I do that, but I would like to make sure. You matter more to me than most anything—except maybe Mabel. I wouldn’t want to lose you over something stupid.” Pacifica thought carefully about her answer—but was unable to come up with a concise and effective response before a grunting sound radiated out from the X-ray room.

Dipper started to his feet as Ford opened the door. The two men had transferred Stan to the hospital bed, and Dr. Lewis was moving him to the overnight room for observation. Stan was still unconscious, but he looked much better. He was shirtless, with clean white bandages wrapped around his torso and shoulders. The blood had been wiped away from his mouth and nose, and an IV had slipped easily into his veins, keeping him hydrated. Ford had put his own jacket back on.

Pacifica, closest to the overnight room door, opened it and stepped inside. Melody started to her feet as Dr. Louis wheeled the bed into place, and then took off his glasses to clean them with a sigh. Dipper and Pacifica stepped inside the room.

“Is Mr. Pines going to be okay?!?” pleaded Soos, falling to his knees and grabbing the doctor by the lab coat. Dr. Louis started, but rolled his eyes as he returned his glasses to his face. Pacifica got the sense that the doctor had treated Soos for many minor handyman related injuries before.

“Yes, Soos,” the doctor sighed. “He’s got some fractured ribs, but none of them are splintered off or shattered enough to threaten his internal organs. The blood you saw was just an immediate result of the impact, and has already clotted. Provided that he gets plenty of bedrest and doesn’t do anything too wild and crazy, I can verify that he’ll make it through just fine.” Tears of joy welled up in Soos’s eyes.

“Now, as for this pig,” Dr. Louis continued, crossing over to the other hospital bed where Mabel sat perched on the white linen sheets.

“His name is Waddles,” she said, trying to keep her emotions under control. She was concerned about Stan as well, of course—but she knew that her grunkle was in capable hands, and Waddles’s injury was much more visible, especially on his smaller body.

“As for Waddles,” said the doctor, taking a deep sniff and probing the wound with his gloved hands. “This is a nasty burn—thankfully, he has enough fat on him that it didn’t affect the bone. I can clean it and provide some ointment, but it will just have to be covered and heal on its own. Alternatively, he does smell really good—I can provide you the number of my butcher if you’re interested.”

Mabel stared daggers at him, violent enough to cause him to back away.

“Or,” he continued, trying to save face, “we can put him on an IV too, and I’ll mix a little morphine in there as well.” Mabel nodded as the doctor backed away slowly, seemingly thankful to have avoided having a grappling hook shoved down his throat.

When Dr. Louis left the room, Pacifica walked over to Mabel and wrapped her in her arms. Mabel, reaching up, pulled Pacifica’s hair around so that it draped over both of their faces, Mabel using it to wipe away her tears.

“You’re disgusting, you know that, right?” said Pacifica sweetly. Mabel, breathing rapidly, could only nod as she turned around and buried her face in Pacifica’s stomach. Behind them, Ford pulled a chair up next to Stan’s bed and sat down, leaning forward and clasping his hands.

“This is all my fault,” said Ford, trying to keep his voice level, but failing. “I should have buried that thing long ago.”

“You did bury it,” said Melody, walking over to him and gently ruffling his hair. “The earth just spit it back out.”

“Still,” said Ford. “Even once I knew that it was free, I should have been more careful. Up until Pacifica stabbed it, I didn’t _know_ who it was. I had my suspicions, but… and I was about to let it into my lab to get a weirdness reading! And now it knows about the teleportation engine, and it’s going to stop at nothing to get back in there and find it.”

“But it doesn’t know where the lab actually is,” said Dipper, trying to reassure his grunkle. Suddenly, he was the authoritative one. “Besides, it’s probably dead already. It was dissolving when it ran out into the snow, and you said that it was more vulnerable in the cold.”

“It turned into fire, Dipper,” sighed Ford, raising his head. “It could keep itself warm for long enough to find another shelter.”

“What about the poison, though?” asked Soos. “You shot it full of that tetris-toxin, and you said it was really fast-acting.”

“Yes,” continued Ford. “But I talked about how the shapeshifter could survive it, with the stupid shapeshifter in the room! I guarantee that even as it was running away, it was pinching off the poisoned part and discarding it. At best, I think the creature lost only about half of its jelly. It’s still out there somewhere.”

“And there’s no one guarding the Shack,” said Melody, standing up. “I’ll go and lock it up as best I can right now.”

“No, no,” said Ford, calmly. “Sit down. It can survive losing half of its mass, but it would definitely come as a shock. It’ll need time to figure out what it can do at a smaller size before it’s confident enough to try another assault.”

“And you don’t have any unicorn magic to keep it out?” asked Soos, thinking back to Weirdmageddon.

“Only for dream demons, I’m afraid,” answered Ford. “We’ll need to keep a twenty-four hour watch, and establish some kind of safety protocol to keep the Shack secure while I figure out how to disable the teleportation engine. Once I can do that, we know that the creature is trapped.”

“You’re going to destroy the engine?” asked Dipper in disbelief. “But it’s such an amazing discovery! We have to figure out how it works!”

“Dipper, I appreciate your enthusiasm,” said Ford tiredly. “But right now, what’s most important is keeping the world safe. I’ve already taken a scan of the device, so we can attempt to reverse engineer it once the shapeshifter problem is solved.”

Dipper skulked backwards, squeezing his arm tighter—helping to stop the remaining dribbles of blood while tamping down his frustration.

“Rest assured,” sighed Ford, “I won’t be running any tests without you around. But right now, we need to come up with a test that we can use to figure out whether or not we have the shapeshifter in our presence. Because, obviously, asking personal questions isn’t going to do it.”

“I still don’t understand how that monster knew so much about Wendy,” muttered Dipper.

“It didn’t have to know much of anything,” said Pacifica, turning to face the rest of the room. She pulled her hair apart, exposing her face, while leaving Mabel’s covered. “It said that it stopped by her house. All that it needed to see was your hat in her room, and then it picked up a shirt and stole the truck. You fed that thing all the other information that it needed to know to answer the questions you asked. It just told you what it knew you wanted to hear.”

“You were pretty emotional the first time we fought that thing, Dip,” Mabel contributed, only poking her lips out from behind Pacifica’s hair. “It remembered what you said to Wendy and just… exploited it.”

“There’s no way it could have been that clever,” said Dipper, standing up and pacing around. As smart as he was, he had been completely duped by a monster in the shape of his friend. He had encountered things smarter than him before, but never one so deliberately malicious.

“I told you it was smart,” whispered Ford. “But it’s like Stanley always says—all the brainpower in the world is no match for pure dumb luck.” He reached out and gently took his brother’s hand.

“So,” he continued, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We need some way to eliminate luck from the equation.”

“What about blood?” asked Soos, who had sat down in the corner.

“What _about_ blood, Soos?” Dipper said to him, more harshly than he had intended to. A stern glance from Pacifica caused him to reign in his temper and shrink away.

“Yeah, I saw it in this old movie from the 80’s,” said Soos, holding up his hands and looking around the room. “You take a little blood from everyone to see if they’re real. When Pacifica stabbed Wendy earlier, like a totally awesome action hero, she didn’t bleed. So either the shapeshifter wouldn’t bleed, or it would just leak some of that apricot goo.”

“Hmm…” said Ford, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “That would work for now, but there’s no way all the tourists would consent to it. But, it should provide a long enough window for me to set up my sensitive weirdness detection equipment, which will allow us to find it without having to stab people.”

“Who’s going to be on stabbing duty?” asked Pacifica thoughtfully.

“I’ll do it,” Melody volunteered as Dr. Louis reentered the room.

“What?” she asked as everyone looked at her strangely. “I’ve popped pimples before. This is no different.” Everyone seemed to shrug in agreement.

Meanwhile, Dr. Louis had begun to work on Waddles, pouring alcohol over the burn to clean it and then applying a thick white salve. The pig grunted at the stinging sensation of the solution, but sighed in relief when the doctor laid a thick bandage over the wound, affixing it to the skin with medical tape. Mabel gripped his hoof tightly and turned away, pulling Pacifica’s hair and turning away when the doctor attempted to insert an IV into his forelimb—it took two attempts. Pacifica winced as her hair was pulled downwards, forcing her to crouch, but she would do it for Mabel.

Once the IV was in and the steady drip of saline solution had begun, mixed with a little bit of morphine, Waddles immediately went to sleep with a smug smile on his face. He looked much better now, simply for having the burn covered.

“Now,” said Dr. Louis, walking over to Dipper with the same medical supplies. “Come here, sit down, and let me take a look at your arm.” Dipper sat down unsteadily, unable to use his arms to properly balance himself. Dr. Louis, sitting on his right, clicked his tongue disapprovingly as he removed the blood-soaked towel.

“Yeah,” the doctor said, sighing. “I thought as much from the amount of blood. You’re going to need stitches.”

“What else is new?” asked Dipper through gritted teeth as Dr. Louis pulled a suture kit out of his coat pocket and set it on his lap. First, the wound needed to be cleaned—Dipper winced as he poured alcohol into the cut and wiped it away with gauze.

“So, what are we going to do now?” asked Soos, standing up and pacing the room. “We can’t stay here all night. If that thing sees that we’ve abandoned the Shack, it’ll go back in and start searching while we’re not there. It could be there already!”

“I doubt it, Soos,” said Ford, reassuringly. “Like I said, the cold slows it down, and it needs time to adjust to the amount of jelly it lost. It can turn into fire all it likes, but even a raging blaze would be put out by this snowstorm.

“You’re right, though. A contingent of us needs to go back and batten down the hatches while the rest of us stay here with the wounded,” he continued. “So, who wants to go where?”

“I’m staying here!” immediately announced Mabel, finally letting go of Pacifica’s hair. The blonde instantly stood up, unsteady on her feet. “I’m not going to leave Stan and Waddles alone here! They need adult supervision!”

“You’re sixteen,” said Melody, rolling her eyes. “I’ll stay here too, just to keep an eye on them. I better get used to hospitals anyway.”

“Hospitals are fine, if you know what you’re doing,” said Dr. Louis, Dipper wincing as thin blue thread began to be pulled through his skin, slowly pulling the laceration shut. Pacifica hated to admit it, but it looked as though the doctor’s experienced hands were doing a better job than she had on the forest floor after the dyre attack. “Besides, I still need to take a look at your shoulder. What did you say attacked you again?”

“A frog monster,” announced Soos confidently.

“Technically it was a shapeshifter that looked like a frog monster,” said Melody, gently rubbing her shoulder—a bruise was already starting to form. “But I’m fine.”

“There’s not much I can do for a contusion anyway,” said Dr. Louis. “But I’ll still look at it. Anyway, should I be worried about this shapeshifter?” He smirked slightly as he spoke—as a resident of Gravity Falls, he had seen some things that he couldn’t necessarily explain—but nothing quite so odd as a shapeshifter. He likely didn’t believe what everyone was telling him, but it was only his job to treat the injuries. If the police needed to be alerted, they could do that in the morning.

“I wouldn’t stress about it,” said Ford, standing up and starting to pace the room. “It doesn’t want anything to do with the town right now, and it would be far too obvious if people simply started disappearing. Remember that the shapeshifter doesn’t know anything about human society, so it doesn’t have the social or job skills needed to take over anyone’s life just yet. That’s probably why it always folded when we were playing poker—it didn’t know the rules, but it saw Soos fold and then just did that until everything fell apart.

“But what it does want is that teleportation engine. Soos, is it possible that the shapeshifter could dig into it from underground?” asked Ford.

“No way,” said Soos, shaking his head. “During the renovations, I lined that entire place with concrete and rebar, and checked it out after the earthquake. No cracks. It would take a long time for it to dig through.”

“It’ll try to find the entrance in the Shack, then,” said Ford. “Luckily, it never saw us open the door to it. We can’t let it slip past us and have time to search for it. Soos, you need to go back to the Shack and immediately get to repairing whatever damage it did to the supports. Reinforce the door, hold the place up with jacks, I don’t care—just keep it together.”

“Yes, sir!” exclaimed Soos, snapping to salute.

“What about you, Grunkle Ford?” asked Dipper, biting his lip as the last stitches were inserted and Dr. Lewis started wrapping bandages around the wound, now only slightly leaking blood.

“I’ll be staying here for now,” announced Ford, sitting back in his chair. “I’m going to keep an eye on Stanley, and come back tomorrow once he’s able to move around again. Dr. Louis said that he shouldn’t need to be here more than one night.” Dr. Louis nodded in confirmation.

“But we need to set up the weirdness equipment as soon as possible!” protested Dipper, leaning forward—Dr. Louis jerked him back with a stern glare as he continued wrapping the bandages.

“The blood test will suffice for now, Dipper,” chastised Ford. “The weirdness detector is only meant to make it easier for us to find the shapeshifter, not capture him—we’ll still have to take him out ourselves. And, since there aren’t that many tourists or visitors this time of year, we don’t need to rush to scale things up. If there are any issues, you can contact me on my Weslee.”

“Pacifica, what about you?” asked Mabel, looking up at her. Pacifica blinked, having been so distracted by Dipper, Soos, and Ford planning that she had lost her train of thought.

“Oh, uh… I need to get back home,” said Pacifica, slowly. “I only told my parents that I’d be sleeping over for one night, and they’re probably worried about me. Plus, we’ve still got the Northwest Christmas Eve Party tomorrow, and I really need a good night’s sleep for that.”

“Christmas party?” asked Ford, perking up. “Hmm… if the shapeshifter found out about that, it would be a good opportunity for him to attack you or Dipper and try to squeeze the location of the laboratory out of you.”

“It was in the Shack when the announcement about the tinsel came on the TV,” said Dipper, sighing as Dr. Louis finally snipped off the remaining bandage roll and affixed the loose end to Dipper’s arm with medical tape, just like Waddles.

“Then we’ll need to convince your parents to institute mandatory blood testing at the door,” grimaced Ford.

“Good luck with that,” snorted Pacifica. “They won’t do anything for the good of society unless they think they can make money off of it.”

“Then we’ll make them think there’s a profit,” said Ford, grinning as he came up with a plan. “I’ll call your parents and tell them that you’re staying with us for another night—and also get them to agree to the blood testing. Of course, we won’t tell them what it’s really for.”

“Wait, I can’t go home?” asked Pacifica confusedly. She hadn’t showered in two days, had been through the bowels of the earth, and had almost had heatstroke and frostbite at the same time. She longed for a warm shower with her heated floors, and a full night’s sleep in her mulberry silk sheets. Her hair was growing more tangled by the moment—Mabel’s pulling on it hadn’t helped matters.

“Not tonight, I’m afraid,” apologized Ford. “You live on a hill, and Dipper’s truck had enough trouble making it here to the hospital. It’s been snowing ever since we got here, so there’s no way it could safely reach Northwest Manor now. We’ll have to wait for tomorrow morning, when the road crews can salt the pavement.”

“Fine,” said Pacifica, crossing her arms. “But I’m going back to the Shack. I’m not staying here all night.”

“So am I,” said Dipper, standing up woozily. He braced himself against the wall with his injured arm, but instantly winced. “There’s safety in numbers, after all.”

“Fair enough,” said Ford, standing up and pulling out his regular cell phone. “I’m going downstairs to make this call to your parents. I’d get going back the Shack as soon as you could, before the roads get any worse than the already are.” With that, he started scrolling through his contacts, trying to find Preston’s number. After Weirdmageddon, Pacifica had given him her father’s number just in case there was another incident. The door closed gently behind him.

“So,” said Dr. Louis, tucking away what medical supplies remained into his coat. “Four of you will be staying?”

“Plus Waddles!” declared Mabel as Melody nodded in the affirmative.

“I’ll put a pot of coffee on, then,” groaned the doctor as he stood up and walked towards the exit.

“Oh, you don’t have to stay here all night,” said Melody behind him. “We can keep an eye on Stan and Waddles. They’ll be fine.”

“I’d still like to keep them under professional observation,” said Doc Louis over his shoulder. “Plus, it’s not like I just work here—I own the building, and I’d like to make sure you don’t break anything.”

“Melody would never break anything!” declared Soos defensively.

“It’s not her I’m worried about,” said the doctor, glancing at Mabel. Mabel, distracted by gently tracing the patterns that Waddles’s hair made on his tummy, didn’t notice. Shaking his head, Dr. Louis left the room.

“Well,” said Soos, reaching into his pocket and grabbing his keys. “Are you dudes ready to head on to the Shack? I think they’ve got things handled here.”

“Yeah, I think I’m good,” replied Dipper, rubbing his arm. He pinched up the blood soaked towel that he had held against his arm, which had fallen unceremoniously on the floor, and dropped it into the trash. “How about you Pacifica?”

Pacifica looked around the room. Waddles was snoring lightly, and Mabel appeared to be doing better, tears no longer spilling onto her cheeks. Stan lay on his back, bandages wrapped around him. He no longer looked unconscious—merely asleep. Melody nodded that it was okay for her to go when she made eye contact.

“Yeah,” she said, reaching out to gently squeeze Mabel’s hand. “I’m good.” Mabel squeezed back.

Soos quickly turned around and kissed Melody goodbye before heading for the door. Together, Soos, Pacifica, and Dipper made their way out into the hallway and down the stairs to the front entrance.

As they passed by the empty receptionist’s desk, they could see Dr. Louis in the break room trying to figure out the coffee machine—evidently, his assistants usually handled the beverages. Pacifica would have helped him—but she too had no idea how to operate a machine with an actual coffee filter.

“No, no, no, Mr. Northwest,” Ford’s voice said, bouncing around the empty lobby. He stood in the center of the waiting area, nodding at the trio as they passed by. “I assure you that this is not an attempt by the government to steal your DNA and use it to make poor people more business-savvy. I am a private entrepreneur myself.” Pacifica heard her father’s voice come through the phone’s speaker, muffled by Ford’s jawline.

“In fact,” responded Ford to whatever Preston had said, “I believe that this is a tremendous opportunity to get in on the ground floor of a burgeoning industry. Imagine how much money your associates would pay if, when they approached old age, they could simply insert their consciousness into a younger clone of themselves!”

Stepping towards the door, Soos undid the lock and struggled to push it open due to the drifts of snow that had been piled against it by the wind, approaching Pacifica’s thighs. Thankfully, once they got away from the building, there was far less of it, the wind having had nothing to pile it up against.

“Of course the technology’s viable!” said Ford, booming with laughter. He was putting on an act, but it was an effective one. He seemed charming, genuine, and knowledgeable about what he was shilling—he and his brother both had a natural penchant for lying. “It’s already been proven. You have a teenage daughter, I know, so I’m sure you’ve heard of the band Sev’ral Timez?” Pacifica rolled her eyes, but didn’t listen any further as she stepped outside, the wind instantly slamming the door shut behind them.

Pacifica began walking, following in the path that Soos’s mighty legs had plowed through the snow. She wasn’t wearing her googles, but had her hand covering her eyes to protect them from the wind. Dipper was behind her, briefly turning around when Ford clicked the lock shut behind him. They nodded at each other solemnly. They each had their own missions to attend to.

Francine roared to life as Soos cranked the truck, trying to get the heat going. Breathing on his hands to keep them warm, he started to rub the steering wheel vigorously. Pacifica clambered into the backseat, behind Soos, while Dipper claimed shotgun.

Her boyfriend seemed defeated and exhausted—even with his arm all patched up, he had ceded the driver’s seat to Soos with no argument. He closed his eyes, leaning against the headrest as Soos backed up, putting the truck into four-wheel drive.

Pacifica attempted to lean her cheeks against the window, but instantly withdrew—the glass was simply too cold, covered over with a thin layer of ornate ice crystals. She shivered, looking at Dipper’s face as they passed down the lonely main street back to the Mystery Shack. The yellow streetlights, the only sign of anything outside the truck other than the snow, cast alternating bands of cool illumination and frigid darkness across his placid and pained expression.


	17. Reinforce

The front door lay half buried in the snow when Soos finally pulled Francine to a shuddering stop before the Mystery Shack. The electric lights inside remained on, though the blazing fire had long since been extinguished by time and the freezing wind blowing into the living room.

“Paz, make sure you put your goggles back on before you get out,” Dipper called back to her, not making eye contact. “Until we’re able to sweep the house clean, anything could be compromised.” With that, Dipper opened his door and dropped into the snow, sinking up to his knees. Despite everything that had happened, he still wore his shorts and t-shirt from their earlier adventure to Crash Site Omega, leaving him shivering with a thin sheen of near-frozen water on his skin.

Pacifica sneered at him from behind as she reached into her pocket and pulled out the googles, seeing the metallic glint of the lenses in the lights of Francine, which slowly drifted into darkness after Dipper closed his door. Her fingers trembled as she adjusted the band, shivering. She was at least wearing long pants, but her shirt was still loose and sleeveless. Her delicately painted nails had been scarred and scratched by the day’s events—they would need to be fixed before the party tomorrow.

Tucking her hair into the band of the goggles, she pulled them over her eyes and opened her door, exiting on Soos’s side.

The snow fell as heavily as ever, though the wind seemed to be abating. Dipper began forging his way back to the Shack, plowing a deep trench into the snow. Pacifica, who was much smaller than Dipper, struggled on her own against the weight of the water.

Suddenly, concealed by the snow and the darkness behind her goggles, she felt her foot catch on a hidden root. With a grunt, she flung out her arms to catch herself, but was unable to stop from tumbling face first to the ground. The snow was piled so deeply that she caught an open mouthful of it before she stopped.

“Pacifica!” exclaimed Soos, walking over to her with powerful strides. “Are you okay?” He reached down and grabbed her by the arms, setting her back on her feet.

“I-I’m f-f-f-fine,” she said, shivering as she spit out the bite of snow that she had accidentally taken. The idea of eating snow may have been romantic, but it wasn’t sanitary, especially since she knew the amount of toxins that the Northwest Mudflap Factory pumped into the atmosphere. Small clumps of snow clung to the fine hairs on her arms, falling off as her body heat melted them away.

“Get inside, then,” instructed Soos, patting her on the head. She started to rebuff him for messing up her hair—but it was ruined enough already. “Rebuild the fire and get warmed up. I’m going to need some help before you dudes go to bed.” With that, he walked away towards where the door lay in the snow. He picked it up and, dusting it off, lifted it over his head like a makeshift umbrella and began walking towards the Shack.

Pacifica looked up, seeing Dipper’s shadow vanish into the Shack—he hadn’t even noticed that she had fallen. She didn’t have the energy to be angry, and instead simply started walking towards the porch—taking special care to lift her feet over the sprawling, hidden roots.

The boards of the steps didn’t creak as she stepped on them, already strained to their maximum flex by the weight of the snow. Surprisingly, the snow cover didn’t stop when she stepped into the Shack.

In the time they had spent in the hospital, the storm hadn’t let up at all, blowing foot-deep drifts of snow into the foyer between the kitchen and living room. However, since the earlier explosion of the fish tank had drenched the floor in the living room, there was little that the storm could do to make it worse.

Pacifica heard a creak in the gift shop, and braced herself to run up the stairs—during Weirdmageddon, she had learned that the entrance to the lab was hidden behind the vending machine. If the shapeshifter had returned and was poking around, it would make sense for him to look there, since he would know that the access point to an underground space would be somewhere on the first floor. She relaxed, however, when she saw Dipper emerge from the shop holding a snow shovel.

“Why do you keep a shovel in the gift shop?” asked Pacifica as she stepped to the side, allowing Dipper to begin the task of throwing the interior snow drifts back into the night. Soos, having set the door on the porch, stepped by them to go to his storage closet and retrieve some tools.

“I don’t work here,” grunted Dipper, the chill sheen of the water on his skin soon replaced by salty droplets of sweat. As cold as it was, the physical activity was still intense. “But if I remember right, it’s so Stan can threaten people with it and not be arrested like he would be with a gun.”

“Clever,” said Pacifica flatly. Dipper had been through a lot today as well, she knew, but his tone seemed more dismissive and angrier than was justified. A good night’s sleep would likely help—as would a fresh change of clothes and some heat.

Pacifica, taking the initiative, stepped into the living room and crouched down in front of the fire. Despite having been left exposed to the cold and wind for hours, a few glowing red embers still remained in the very heart of the coals.

She reached over to the pile of firewood, grabbing several smaller sticks and a tinderbox. Breaking the sticks into smaller pieces, she delicately arranged them into pyramid over the hottest part of the coals. Her hands, while still delicate and soft, had been trained into usefulness by two years of working at Greasy’s and wandering the woods with Dipper and Mabel.

The tinderbox held several small pieces of charcloth, which Pacifica pulled apart to their maximum size. They left a black, sooty residue on her hands, which she wiped away on her khaki pants. Given the amount of abuse that these pants had been through, perhaps she needed to burn them as well.

She gingerly spread the cloth over the embers, and watched in delight as a small hole was eaten away in the center of it. Slowly, the flames spread to the outer edges of the fabric, setting the kindling alight and causing a wave of heat to cascade throughout the living room. She shivered—this time in pleasure as the water still clinging to her skin evaporated and she felt warmth begin to seep back into her bones.

Grunting, she rocked back on the balls of her feet and grabbed a large log. Lifting it up with a mighty heave, she set it as gently as she could beside the smaller pyramid of flame. Kneeling down, she blew on it, causing the flames to rush up and engulf the larger log. Now, it was just a matter of waiting.

She stood up, running her hands over the marred cloth of her pants. To her right, she saw Soos emerge from within the Shack and step outside, using a tape measure to mark where he needed to reattach the door to the frame. To her left, Dipper had just finished shoveling as much snow outside as he could get, and was now trying to clear off some of the porch.

Pacifica looked around the living room—it was still in a state of disaster. The carpet was wet, but the fire would take care of that naturally, given enough time. However, the glass, poker chips, and soggy cards would need to be picked up manually.

In the corner, behind the overturned table, she spotted the silver glint of the poker set case. She would need Dipper’s help to set the heavy, solid wood table upright, but she could at least begin gathering the chips.

Picking up the case, ensuring that it was safe and clean, she began walking around the room, crouching down in strategic locations to pick up as many chips as possible without having to stand back up. Her knees, despite standing for work all day and having been trained to perfection as a skier, still began to hurt if they were abused for too long.

Slowly, the case began to fill back up with all of the colorful patterned chips, sheltered by a black foam. A few of the chips remained missing—likely having rolled into other rooms, slipped through cracks in the floorboards, or slid under heavier pieces of furniture. They would show up with time.

Pacifica closed the case with a satisfying click, gently setting it on top of the television. Her eyes flashed to the door as she heard the hinges give a squeak, Soos beginning the process of remounting it. Dipper, his breath puffing in the air, leaned his snow shovel against the outside wall and stepped inside, stomping the snow off of his boots. Walking in, he crouched by the fire, shivering.

“T-t-thanks,” he murmured to Pacifica as he sighed in relief. Now that they were both warming up and had a chance to relax, however slightly, everyone seemed to be calming down. As he rubbed his hands in front of the fire, Pacifica’s eyes drifted over to the shattered remains of the fish tank. 

At first, she wasn’t sure what she was seeing, and rushed over for a closer look. She recognized the lobster easily enough. It was still moving around, waving its antennae about to sense its environment and occasionally snipping its claws at an object it found threatening. It didn’t appear to have moved much since the tank shattered, the experience likely being rather traumatizing.

What she didn’t recognize, however, was a strange, white salamander-like creature with frills at the back of its head. Its skin appeared dry and parched, gills barely fluttering as its mouth opened and closed. Its legs, ending in webbed toes, kicked about helplessly. Not having a shell like the lobster, whatever this thing was, it couldn’t survive for long out of water.

Pacifica rushed into the kitchen, grabbing a large glass bowl and filling it with cool water. At the same time, she plugged the sink and left the water running as she returned to the living room.

She drew her nose and lips back in an expression of disgust as she wrapped her hands around the small body of the white creature and lifted it up, depositing it in the glass bowl. It didn’t move, and merely sank to the bottom—distraught, Pacifica grabbed the lobster by the tail and, careful to avoid its claws, carried it to the sink.

By the time she returned to the living room, however, the immersion appeared to have helped the mysterious creature tremendously. It was still immobile, laying on the bottom of the bowl. Despite this, its gills were clearly pumping water, and the frills behind its head drifted lazily in the currents of its own creation. Pacifica sighed—it just needed a little recuperation time.

“Hey, Dipper,” she asked, turning around. “What is this thing?”

“What thing?” he asked, huddled close to the fire, trying to absorb its heat and not turning to face her.

“This squishy salamander thing,” said Pacifica, crouching down to get a closer look at it through the glass.

“Oh,” he replied, grunting as he stood up and started to walk to the kitchen. “That’s an axolotl. They’re from Mexico, I think.”

“Why is there one here, though?” asked Pacifica, watching as he vanished and then reemerged with a broom and dustpan. Walking over to her, he handed her the dustpan, which she took obediently as he started to sweep the crumpling cards and larger shards of glass into more manageable piles.

“I don’t really know,” answered Dipper casually. “It was there the first summer we came, and it’s been there ever since. They’re endangered in the wild, so Ford tried to convince Stan that they should return it to his natural habitat. Stan wouldn’t even consider it.”

“Why not?” wondered Pacifica, bending down as Dipper swept the first pile of glass and pulp into the dustpan. As he continued talking, she went and dumped it in the trash.

“I think he just grew attached to it over the years,” said Dipper. “He said there was something important about it, but he couldn’t remember what. Ford finally decided that it was best to hang onto it—just in case it did turn out to be useful. Plus, it kept Stan happy.”

“A good reason, then,” replied Pacifica as Dipper swept another pile into the dustpan. Suddenly, they both looked up as Soos stepped inside with them and closed the door. He opened and closed it twice, just to make sure it worked right.

“Door repair, complete!” he said enthusiastically as he turned to face them, a smile on his face. “Now,” he continued, walking into the living room and puffing up his cheeks. “How do we need to reinforce this room so the building doesn’t collapse and kill us in our sleep?”

The barbed tentacles of the shapeshifter had left deep notches in several critical support beams that supported the upper story of the Shack. It would likely remain standing for a while, but the weight of the snow on the roof and the possibility of the wind picking back up made it imperative to resolve the issue as quickly as possible.

“It looks like the crossbeams are actually sagging,” said Pacifica, pointing to the ceiling. Her artist’s eye had given her an ability to figure out if a line was straight or not, and there was a noticeable curve to the ones above their heads. “If we got a beam and a car jack to hold it up, we could build supports along the broken vertical beams and then let the pressure off.” Soos and Dipper looked at her in surprise.

“What?” she asked, shrugging. “I spend time in McGucket’s lab. I picked up some things.”

“Wow, Dipper,” laughed Soos, lightly pushing him in the arm and causing him to wince in pain. “Don’t lose this one! A little more practice and she’ll be the girl version of me!”

“And that’s what we all want,” muttered Dipper to himself as Soos left the room merrily, on his way to the porch to see if they had any spare logs laying about.

“Come on Dipper,” smirked Pacifica, walking over to him and lightly bumping her hips into him. “He is the world’s most perfect man.”

Dipper opened his mouth, ready to offer a witty retort, when a knocking echoed through the cabin from the newly repaired door. Soos’s hand was inches away from the knob, having been ready to open it. He looked back at Dipper and Pacifica in fear.

“Can we pretend like we’re not here?” asked Soos, far too loudly.

“No,” said Dipper, smacking his forehead. “Because not only are the lights on, but whoever that was just heard you.”

“Sorry dudes,” apologized Soos, scratching his head as he backed away from the door.

“Just get behind me,” Dipper said, eyes searching the room. Most of the weapons from before were no longer there—but Soos’s baseball bat, the empty syringe, and the magnet gun were still scattered on the floor. Dipper knelt down and picked them up, passing the weapons out to the other two. Soos got his baseball bat, and Dipper kept the magnet gun, while he gave the syringe to Pacifica.

“What am I supposed to do with this?!” she hissed. “There’s no poison left in it.”

“There doesn’t need to be,” Dipper replied sternly. “I don’t want this to come to a fight. Now that the shapeshifter knows what that needle does, seeing it may be enough to scare it away. It’s about intimidation, Ms. Northwest.” Pacifica stood straighter, hearing him address her formally. He had never done that before—it made her feel both respected and insulted, and she wasn’t sure how to respond.

Dipper, however, took her momentary silence as acceptance and immediately turned around to face the door. He jangled his improvised bullets within his hands, making sure that the magnet gun was charged. The knock resounded at the door again.

Slowly, Dipper crouched and crept towards the door, the rubber soles of his shoes squeaking on the still-wet floorboards. A mirror image of Ford, he sidled up to the curtains and peered beneath them, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever person or creature stood beyond the walls in the snow.

“Hey, losers!” Wendy’s voice echoed through the house. “Let me in! I’m freezing my butt off out here!” Dipper looked back at Soos and Pacifica and rolled his eyes.

Either it really was Wendy, or the shapeshifter thought that they were stupid enough to fall for the same ruse twice. Dipper gestured for the two others to join him at the door as he stood up and cleared his throat, preparing to open it as they all held their weapons at the ready.

“What did you have to drink?” he asked as his hand gripped the knob.

“Champagne,” Pacifica replied, nodding.

“Like, a Monster,” said Soos. “Unless we’re talking about this morning, in which case it was orange juice mixed with Mabel Juice, which is like… an unholy combination of coffee and nightmares.” Dipper and Pacifica nodded at each other—Soos’s answer was close enough. Taking a deep breath, he turned the knob and stepped out to meet Wendy.

She certainly looked like Wendy—but then, the shapeshifter had as well. Her flaming hair was hidden under a blue and white toboggan, topped with a silver bobble. A green plaid scarf was wrapped tight around her neck, her pale freckled cheeks barely peeking out from above it. She wore a warm winter jacket that covered her shirt, and her traditional jeans. However, instead of mud stained boots, she wore snow boots with spikes meant for traction on slippery terrain. Her hands were buried in her pockets as she bounced up and down slightly to keep warm. Behind her was a silver truck—an almost exact copy of the one that still sat next to it.

“Woah,” she said, pulling down her scarf and exposing the puff of her breath to the air. “What happened here?” she asked, looking past the trio to the destruction within. She stepped forward, attempting to get out of the cold, but Dipper blocked her entrance with his arm, rolling the broken rivets around in his hands.

“Not so fast, _Wendy_ ,” he said aggressively. “We need to see some identification before you can come inside.”

“What, you mean like my driver’s license?” she asked, chuckling to herself. “What, are you with the cops now? Lame.”

“Something else,” said Dipper, fidgeting as he held his ground. He was holding the magnet gun at the ready, but Pacifica could tell by his stance that it was putting an uncomfortable strain on his injured arm. “When we fought the ghosts in the Dusk-2-Dawn, what did I do to get them to go away?”

“Dude, Dipper, are you feeling okay?” asked Wendy, a look of genuine concern crossing her face for the first time.

“I’m feeling fine,” shouted Dipper, clearly not feeling fine. “Answer the question.”

“But like, you’d lose all of your street cred with your girlfriend,” protested Wendy, pointing to Pacifica. “Besides, we did the key thing about it.” She brought her hand up to her lips and mimicked a zipper, before throwing away the key with a flick of her finger.

“I’m fine with that,” said Dipper.

“Things must be really serious here, then,” said Wendy, still looking inside. “Fine,” she rolled her eyes. “You did the lamby-lamby dance, which your mom made you do when you were younger to show people how cute you were.”

“Wow,” snorted Pacifica. “Was there like a lamb costume with little ears and a tail, or…?”

“There totally was!” said Wendy, laughing along with the blonde. Pacifica wasn’t sure how to feel about this—Wendy seemed much more… like Wendy this time, and had already provided a lot of details that only she could know. There was a lot of repair work that still needed to be done, and Wendy could serve as a lookout and a fresh pair of hands. Still, the prospect of letting her in the house made Pacifica uneasy.

“She checks out to me,” said Dipper, turning to face Pacifica and Soos. “What about you two?”

“What about the blood thing that Ford told us about?” asked Soos, adjusting his grip on the bat.

“You’re right!” said Dipper, briefly removing one hand from the magnet gun to rub his eyes. “I must be more tired than I thought.” Even with all of the heat at their backs, the cascading snowfall and dying breeze stripped the warmth from their bones.

“Wendy,” announced Dipper authoritatively. “Before we let you in, we need you to give us a sample of your blood.”

“Are you guys like vampires now, or something?” Wendy asked—half in jest and half in earnest.

“Not like a _sample_ sample,” said Pacifica, brandishing the syringe—Wendy looked uncomfortable around it, but no more than would be usual for a large needle. “We just need to see it.”

“Well,” she said, putting her hands back in her pockets. “I’m not going to cut myself for you guys because I need my blood, but there may be a workaround here.” Everyone’s eyes followed her as she walked over to the nearest window, which still had the shades drawn over it from the inside.

Reaching up, she took off her toboggan, revealing her red hair. It didn’t flow down her back, but had rather been cut short, what little there was left tied up in an ornate braid. Pacifica watched as Dipper flinched upon seeing it—her long flowing hair had been beautiful, even Pacifica would admit.

Beating the snow off of her hat with her knee, she tucked it under her armpit and leaned close to the mirror, reaching for her temple. Pacifica looked away as Wendy perfectly positioned her nails and squeezed, resulting in a burst of thin white pus. Brushing the fluid away on her pants, she walked back over to the door and pointed at her face—a single crimson drop slowly forming where the pimple had been.

“I think that counts as blood,” sighed Dipper, slowly lowering his weapon. Pacifica and Soos, following his lead, did the same.

“I would hope so,” said Wendy, putting her hat back on. “Usually I’m pretty good at managing acne, but this entire drive down had been really stressful because of the storm, so—” She was cut off by Dipper running up to her and enveloping her in a hug. Surprised, she paused for a brief moment before closing her eyes and hugging back. Pacifica felt her stomach turn.

“It’s good to see you,” said Dipper into the fluff of her jacket. “For real this time.”

“It’s good to see you too,” replied Wendy, using some of her lumberjack strength to squeeze him, forcing him to pause and catch his breath. “But I would like to go inside, because it’s actually really cold out here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” gushed Dipper, stepping back and gesturing for Wendy to enter. As she stepped in, Soos closed and locked the door behind them.

“Man,” said Wendy, taking her jacket off and hanging it up on the nearby rack. Small clumps of snow fell to the floor, though it was far less than what had been there minutes prior. “This place is a wreck. What happened? Where are Stan and Ford? And Mabel? And Melody?”

“Um… the hospital,” said Dipper, rubbing the back of his head. He knew that a very long explanation was going to be needed.

“The hospital?” asked Wendy, more curious than appalled. “Was it a bad case of food poisoning or something? I told you all not to let Mabel cook anything that could potentially have salmonella in it.”

“More like a shapeshifter attack, dude!” replied Soos, pulling out a tape measure and beginning to take readings for the new beams that were going to be needed to prop up the Shack.

“Wait, the shapeshifter?” asked Wendy, suddenly much more invested and terrified as her eyes started to glance around the room. “You mean it got out of the ice?”

“Yeah,” sighed Dipper, flopping down in Stan’s chair. “We think it was the earthquake last week that gave it a chance to escape.”

“Wow,” mumbled Wendy. “I felt that in Eugene—it was really strong.”

“Yeah, Eugene…” whispered Dipper. “Eugene. How are things going there, by the way? With you and what’s her name?”

“Mathilde,” answered Wendy, rolling her eyes. “Mattie. And things are pretty good. She had to change jobs recently, so that’s been a little tough, but we’re getting through it. Moving in together helped a lot with money. I know my Dad wants to help me if he can, but he still has my brothers to think about… so I try not to tell him too much about my finances.” Taking off her hat again, she went to lean against the television set. Soos walked out of the room through the gift shop, whistling to himself as he went in search of lumber and a floor jack.

Pacifica breathed a sigh of relief. Dipper hadn’t been lying earlier when he said that Wendy had started dating another girl. It was stupid to be jealous, she knew, but she couldn’t get that persistent fear out of her head. Having Wendy in another committed relationship was a heavy counterweight to her anxieties.

Finally sure that she had nothing to worry about—at least for tonight, she suddenly became aware of how immensely tired she was. She reached into her pocket to check the time, but her phone had long since died. She could only hope that Ford had been successful in calling Preston—if he hadn’t been, she wouldn’t hear about it until tomorrow anyway.

“Dipper,” she said to the room, both Wendy and Dipper turning to look at her—Wendy more actively, while Dipper’s eyes only drifted lazily in her direction. “I’m going to go wash my hair. We need to be at the Manor by early afternoon tomorrow if we want to be ready in time for the party.”

“Do you think the roads will be drivable by then?” asked Dipper, seemingly hoping for an excuse out of the event.

“Maybe not for your truck, but definitely for mine,” said Wendy, pulling out her keys and spinning them around her index finger. Dipper’s truck, as well-equipped as it was, paled in comparison to the size, power, and traction of Wendy’s. Hers was a truck meant for hauling wood. “If yours can’t make it, then I’ll take you. I wouldn’t want you to miss out on the first Northwest soiree that you get to attend on the arm of Ms. Northwest herself.” She smiled at Pacifica.

Pacifica smiled back—even though the comment had leaned slightly into implying that she was pretentious, she could tell that Wendy had meant it innocently enough. Turning, she started making her way up the stairs to get her pajamas and shampoo. She could wait and take a proper shower tomorrow in her full-sized bathroom with heated floors, but she could already tell that her hair was going to need at least two washes to get back to the lustrous shine it needed to properly complement the outfits that she had selected for Dipper and herself.

Behind her, she heard Dipper start to tell Wendy the full story of how the shapeshifter had escaped and attacked the Shack. Pacifica had already lived it, and heard it once—she didn’t need to hear it again.


	18. Apart

The air inside the twins’ attic was cold, what little heat there had been before the attack having been driven out by the cold through the narrow cracks in the window. The warm air from below was slowly rising—but it would take time.

Pacifica shivered as she looked at the room. With Candy and Grenda’s sleeping bags no longer there, much more of the rough wooden floor was exposed. Both Dipper and Mabel’s beds looked warm and cozy compared to her sleeping bag, which now lay scrunched in a pile on the floor. As Pacifica rifled through her bag, a smile started to drift across her face.

Mabel, and all of the other girls, were gone now. It would just be her and Dipper in the attic, alone. The bed was much smaller than the one they had shared in Astoria, granted—but she didn’t think that would be a problem. As she pulled out her tiny bottles of shampoo and conditioner, she paused.

Something smelled strangely. In another moment, she realized that it was her—the only time in her life that she had worked harder or gone longer without rest had been during Weirdmageddon. And during that, her sense of smell had temporarily vanished after she had accidentally caught a face full of sulfuric gas on her way to seek refuge in the Mystery Shack. Thankfully, it had been heavily diluted, and she had been wearing an improvised face mask made of old Northwest oil paintings. It had been a difficult time for everyone.

Amidst all of that chaos, she hadn’t paid attention to how she smelled. Now, she was able to feel the sensation of her own scent for the first time. To her, it wasn’t particularly pleasant—like wilting flowers that had been left out too long, and a deep fryer someone had drained all the grease out of to clean. But, just because it wasn’t pleasant didn’t mean that it was bad.

For a brief moment, she considered not wearing any perfume, or doing anything at all, and simply letting Dipper see her in her most disheveled state. Then, thoughts of the party tomorrow intruded. She needed to start making herself socially acceptable now, regardless of what the primal parts of Dipper’s animal brain might think. Perhaps another day, another adventure—one a few years down the road.

She gathered up her supplies and walked back out of the attic, heading down the stairs to the bathroom on the ground floor. As she approached the foyer, the wetness of the boards finally vanishing as a result of the heat, she heard the voices of Dipper and Wendy accompanied by a loud metallic squeaking. She stopped on the stairs, just out of view.

“So that’s what caused all this damage,” said Wendy, grunting as she strained to pump the floor jack. “I still can’t believe that it tricked you into thinking it was me.” In the center of the room, a thick log sat on top of the jack. Soos held the timber in place as Dipper and Wendy struggled to lift it up, finally contacting the cracked and curving beam overhead.

“Yeah, well it was good at being you,” mumbled Dipper through gritted teeth. With his injured arm, he couldn’t apply as much pressure to the jack, and was trying to make up for it with enthusiasm. “I really wanted you to be here.”

“Why, dude?” asked Wendy as Soos removed his arms from the log and stepped back, the ceiling supported from the center. The cracks in the vertical beams were now exposed, and he could begin the process of reinforcing them properly. “I know I’m cool and all that, but you’ve got Mabel, the Stans, and Pacifica. It’s cool to see that her fashion sense has improved, by the way.”

“You mean the goggles?” laughed Dipper. “Nah, she’d never wear those willingly. It’s just to keep her safe from the shapeshifter. If it can’t see her eyes, it can’t replicate them.”

“And you’ve looked into her eyes long enough to know exactly what they look like, lover boy?” smirked Wendy. Dipper blushed and, not responding, picked up the broom from before. Wendy grabbed the dustpan, and they continued to sweep. With the risk of a collapse avoided for now, they could focus on cleaning up. 

Pacifica reached up and touched the googles as she took the last few steps and turned to the left, ducking towards the bathroom without stepping into the living room. She was sure that they had heard her footsteps, but didn’t feel obligated to stop and talk. She had more important matters to attend to.

The bathroom in the Shack was just as underwhelming as she remembered. She had never taken a shower there before, and didn’t intend to start now—this was simply to get her hair in working order. Thankfully, Melody had made some improvements to it, though it was still quite… rural.

The clawfoot tub with a curtain ring at the top had been replaced by a tub set against the wall with a single curtain rod, some shelves closing the gap between the end of the tub and the wall. The mirror was no longer cracked, and the single dangling bulb that had once provided light had been replaced by an incandescent fixture that made the room seem pleasantly warm. The single window had been sealed with caulk to keep steam from escaping, and the floor had been covered with linoleum. Eventually, Melody aimed to replace it with tile, but linoleum was a temporary improvement over the previous wooden boards.

Pacifica closed and locked the door behind her before draping her hoodie and flannel pants over a hook. She placed her shampoo and conditioner on the sink, wrapping her towel around her neck. She turned the sink on, testing the water temperature with her fingers until it was suitably warm and flicking the excess droplets away into the shower. She paused, looking at herself in the mirror.

She was still wearing the googles that Dipper had given her. As infuriating and limiting as they were, she had grown used to them more quickly than she had expected. She reached up gingerly, grabbing the sides of the lenses and pulling them off, feeling the static tug of the rubber strap on the back of her head. Now that she had a chance to look at her face, she could see the toll that the googles had taken on her.

While the rest of her face was a lovely shade of pink, the area around her eyes had been starved of blood, leaving two large white circles around them. It made her light blue eyes pop even more, but it didn’t complement the rest of her look. Around the circles, thin red lines had formed from the pressure of the lenses.

Cupping her hands, she filled them with water and splashed her face, rubbing vigorously in an attempt to restore blood flow. Slowly, color began to return, filling her with relief. She placed her elbows on the sink and leaned over, resting her face in her hands tiredly.

She loved Dipper. She still did. But today, and yesterday, he had been… frustrating. He didn’t listen to what she said about following Chutzpar’s advice, and she had been the one who saved him from despair by finding the trail of footprints in the dust. He leapt to Wendy’s defense against her advice, both the fake one and the real one. He had put her and everyone else in danger in an attempt to help Ford. And last night, when Candy had offered to let them share the bed, he hadn’t even considered it—almost making it seem as though he didn’t want to go too public with their relationship.

Pacifica buried her fingers in her hair and plunged her head under the stream of water, gasping as she felt the cascade of warmth over her scalp. Even without shampoo, she could feel the dirt and grime of the day being rinsed away. She didn’t enjoy washing her hair in the sink, especially one so low to the ground—she had so much hair that, once it got wet, it became extremely heavy and difficult to control. Still, it was what she had to work with.

Standing up and draping her hair across the front of her body, she sighed as she realized that she was still wearing her shirt. It was soaked in sweat and earth, and pulling it over her head after she had washed her hair would only make her scalp filthy again.

Trying to balance the weight of her hair atop her head, she reached down with one hand and pulled her shirt up and over her head, removing one arm and letting her hair cascade to the other side as she removed it completely. Her bra came next—though there was less dirt on it, there was just as much sweat, and Pacifica had been trapped in small spaces enough today that she wanted to avoid as many as possible.

She breathed deeply in relief as she felt the rush of cool air across her skin. Now, she felt flexible and free enough to wash her hair, squirting out a generous dose of shampoo into her hand as she bent back into the sink, massaging it into her scalp. With her head still down, eyes closed to keep shampoo from running into them, she fumbled around the sink to find her roughest-toothed comb, using it to spread the specialized soap from her roots to her tips.

Slowly, the foam began to make its way out of her hair and down the drain. She stood back up, shutting the water off as she looked at herself in the mirror. She still looked filthy, but much better than she had before. Her face no longer had dirt or painful red lines on it, though her torso still glistened with the remnants of sweat and snow. Her normally golden hair was made darker by the water within it, almost staining it to the color of honey. She liked the color—though it would have worked better if she had much shorter hair.

She pulled her hair around to her back, feeling the water within it drip down her spine. She reached out for a bottle of lavender conditioner and, starting at the top, worked it down the entire length of her hair. There would need to be a more intensive care regimen tomorrow, but this would suffice for now.

Leaving the conditioner in her hair for a few minutes, she crossed over to the tub. She wasn’t going to take a shower, despite Melody’s improvements, but a little freshening up wouldn’t hurt. She pulled the shower curtain back and sat down on the edge of the tub, leaning over to turn the faucet on.

As steam began to fill the room, she crossed her legs and removed her shoes. As she pulled her socks off, however, she winced. Inspecting closely, she could see that a small blister had started to form on the side of her foot. Tomorrow in high heels would not be pleasant.

The blister was not her biggest worry, however, as she stood up and unbuttoned her khakis, pulling them down to look at her legs. Despite having worn long pants, her lower calves and feet were almost completely covered in a fine earthen dust, which the combined action of her sweat and the snow had turned into a fetid mud.

She drew her hands back, not wanting to touch herself as she pulled her legs up and swung them into the tub, placing her feet under the solid stream of water. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw the mud begin to flake away, dissolving and disappearing down the drain. It appeared, thankfully, that it wouldn’t be permanent.

Once the worst of the filth had been cleaned away, she leaned back towards the sink and grabbed her body wash. Squirting it directly onto her hands, she began to massage it into her legs and between her toes, sighing in relief as the pale pink of her nail polish, cracked though it may have been, began to show through.

The process of getting clean wasn’t particularly pleasant, but it did give her plenty of time to think.

Despite all that Dipper had done, she had to admit that he was under an awful lot of stress. He felt the burden to look after both her and Mabel, and was doing so while he was extremely exhausted. Even the googles, as foolish as they seemed to Pacifica, were a way of trying to keep her safe. She just needed to be vigilant to ensure that something aimed at keeping her safe didn’t become his way of controlling her—Dipper would never do such a thing intentionally, but he sometimes had trouble with seeing where logic ended and his anxieties began.

They needed rest. They all needed rest. Pacifica yawned as the last remnants of dirt from her lower legs vanished down the drain. With the earth removed, she saw that she had a few thin red scratches—but they would easily heal with time. They were nowhere near as impressive, or as dangerous, as Dipper’s wounds. He seemed to have a way of getting stabbed or sliced whenever they spent time together.

She next took a handful of water and splashed it onto her chest, using her hands to wipe away the worse of the grime. Her armpits received the next splash—the strange scent of herself she had noticed in the attic was beginning to disappear, replaced by the unostentatious and unpresuming perfume of flowers. Finally, she cleaned the remaining grime out from underneath her fingernails. For now, this was as clean as she was going to get.

She turned the faucet off and spun herself to the outside of the tub, hesitating over where to put her feet. Her socks and towel were all the way across the room, and she would have to get there somehow. She considered trying to throw her dirty socks and shoes across the room to step on—at least that would have been her own filth.

After some consideration, however, she decided that the linoleum didn’t appear too terribly stained, and there were only a few miscellaneous unidentifiable hairs. Stepping gingerly across the floor, she grabbed her towel from the hook and wiped herself down with it. Despite the fact that she had just washed away as much grime as she could, a few filthy patches still appeared on her hot pink towel. She still felt covered in a sheen of stickiness, but she could survive that for now.

Now dry, she returned to the sink and turned the water back on. The conditioner had sat in her hair for long enough, and needed to be washed out before it clogged her pores. Bending down, she vigorously massaged her scalp as the conditioner vanished down the drain, leaving her hair as shiny and clean as it could be under the circumstances. There were quite a few knots and tangles in it, but she could deal with those later.

Stepping back and splaying her honeyed hair out as best she could, she wrapped it up in her towel, taking care to leave the dirty spots facing outwards. With her hair wrapped up, she pulled her hoodie on carefully, with nothing beneath it. Tossing her dirty laundry in a pile, she changed underwear and pulled her flannel pants on. After that, she put on a pair of white ankle-high socks, trying her best to dry her feet off before pulling them on—putting socks on with wet feet being universally difficult and unpleasant.

Now standing up, she gathered her laundry into a bundle, careful to keep her underwear obscured. She checked herself in the mirror one more time before pausing—her goggles were sitting on the sink, unused.

She sighed before reaching out to grab them. Everyone in the Shack had been proven to be safe, but she knew it would make Dipper feel better if she wore them. Besides, she would definitely be taking them off as soon as they were in bed together. A few more minutes of suffering would not make her day substantially worse than it already was.

Snapping the goggles on was a difficult process since her hair was wrapped up in a towel, and her skin was still slightly tacky. Once they were affixed to her face, she shook her head and opened the door, sending a cloud of steam billowing out into the hallway.

The boards underneath her feet creaked as she walked to the stairs. This time, she paused before the turned the corner, hearing Wendy and Dipper’s voices coming from the kitchen. A constant thud came from the living room, where Soos was busy constructing new supports.

“So the shapeshifter stopped by my house and stole my brother’s truck?” asked Wendy, astonished. “I saw the other one outside, but I didn’t check the license plate. I didn’t even stop by to check in on them before I came here. I’ll go over there tomorrow and make sure they’re not too rattled up.”

“Yeah…” said Dipper, mumbling to himself. Pacifica could barely see them sitting at the kitchen table, peeking around the corner. “But Wendy, I have a question. When the shapeshifter came in, it was wearing your old ushanka—it probably just picked it because it remembered having seen you in it. But, when I asked it why it was wearing it, it told me that you had left my hat back in Gravity Falls, instead of taking it with you to Eugene. And the only reason it would have known that you had my hat at all was if you actually left it behind in your bedroom—so… why, I guess, is my question.”

“It’s just a hat, dude,” said Wendy, reaching forward and resting her hand on his knee gently. Pacifica tensed, even though it was clearly not romantic in nature. “Just because I didn’t take it to Eugene doesn’t mean that you’re any less of my friend.”

“I know, I know,” said Dipper, turning and forcing her to move her hand. “But it is _just_ a hat. It’s not that heavy, or hard to move. You could have easily tucked it into a box or something. So, you either forgot about it, or you deliberately left it behind. And I’m not sure which one I’m more scared of hearing.”

“I definitely didn’t forget it,” said Wendy, propping her feet up in another chair and drawing her hands to a clasp over her stomach. “I left it behind for two reasons.

“The first is that I didn’t want Mattie getting jealous. She knows that I’ve dated guys before, so she always feels a little threatened whenever I mention one that I like as much as you.” Pacifica was frozen behind the stairs, trying to process this overheard information and fit it into her view of the world. Wendy was as worried about losing her significant other as she was—and she didn’t see Dipper as a threat to her relationship with the girl in Eugene.

“The second reason is that it makes me too nostalgic,” continued Wendy, gently rocking. “Whenever I see it, I think back to that first summer. You and Mabel, the wild adventures we had. We were kids, and we didn’t have to worry about anything. You’re still a kid.”

“I’m sixteen,” replied Dipper defensively.

“Baby,” responded Wendy. “You’re a baby. And I’m only nineteen, so I’m just a little less of a baby. I just don’t realize it yet.” She sighed. “The point is, I start thinking about how good times were back then, and I just want to live them again. But I can’t,” she shrugged. “I just have to treasure the memories. But until I can learn how to do that, it’s best to keep the memories where they belong.”

“So… you left the hat behind because it makes you _too_ happy?” Dipper asked, confused.

“Not happy, exactly,” replied Wendy. “More like wistful. A little melancholy on the rainy days.” For a moment, they sat in silence. Dipper was quiet, unsure of what to say in response to that. Wendy closed her eyes in peace, not feeling that anything needed to be said at all.

“Hey, Dipper,” said Pacifica as she stepped out from behind the stairs and up onto them, ready to ascend to the attic. “The bathroom’s free if you want to take a shower.”

“Thanks, Paz,” said Dipper, grunting as he stood up. He walked over to the kitchen cabinets and, fumbling around, pulled out a tissue box stuffed to the brim with old shopping bags. Taking one out, he tore a hole in it and pulled it over his arm in an attempt to keep the bandaging dry. It wasn’t a cast, but the stitches had only been in for a couple of hours—it would be best if they remained dry for a while longer.

Having the bag on his arm, he jogged upstairs to grab his toiletries and a change of clothes. Pacifica followed him at a more leisurely pace, only entering the attic bedroom when he was leaving it. She took her time putting her clothes away and rolling up her sleeping bag—she wouldn’t be needing it tonight, after all.

Once that was done, however, she stood in the attic in silence. There wasn’t much else to do except wait for Dipper, but that struck her as boring. Anything she could do while waiting for Dipper she could also do alone.

Despite hearing from Wendy herself that the redhead didn’t plan on stealing Dipper away from her, the needle of a worry remained in her brain. She had never really spoken to Wendy directly before, and now she had a chance to do so in relative privacy—Soos would be in the other room, but she doubted that he would be paying much attention. She turned to face the door as she heard the pipes within the Shack groan, hot water coursing towards the downstairs bathroom. Now was her chance.

She gently paced downstairs, moving slowly so as not to surprise anyone. She didn’t know who she was worried about—neither Soos nor Wendy would think she was the shapeshifter, but she wanted to keep them as calm as possible.

Downstairs, everyone was exactly where she had predicted. Wendy had pulled out her phone and was lazily scrolling through Reddit—as much _Bloodcraft_ as Pacifica played, she still preferred Instagram. Soos was kneeling on the floor in the living room, using a drill as he attached smaller pieces of wood together to make a support frame. Already, the sagging ceiling was supported at multiple points.

Pacifica took a deep breath—Wendy didn’t know that she was there. She could still turn around and walk upstairs, and she would be none the wiser. But Pacifica also knew that this was her one opportunity to finally resolve the anxieties that had been gnawing at her since Seattle.

“Hey,” she spoke, her voice choking and cracking. “Hey,” she said again, more loudly this time.

“Ms. Northwest!” said Wendy, lazily bending over to look at the blonde upside down. “How good of you to come into my office. Do take a seat.” Pacifica rolled her eyes at the redhead’s fake British accent as she entered the kitchen and pulled up a chair, the same one that Dipper had previously occupied. “What brings you to my firm?” Wendy continued with a laugh.

“Wendy,” breathed Pacifica, trying to get straight to the point. “I need to know something. Was there, or will there ever be, anything between you and Dipper?”

“Woah,” replied Wendy with a grin. “You’re a little insecure, aren’t you? For the girl who has everything.”

“I am,” said Pacifica, swallowing as she tried to maintain a look of confidence. “Which is why I want to get rid of that insecurity.”

“Psychiatric help with be five cents,” said Wendy, extending her hand and rubbing her fingers together. Pacifica looked at her sideways in disbelief.

“Relax,” said Wendy, pulling her hand back. “If I was serious, I’d be charging you way more than five cents. But, since you asked, no, there was nothing between me and Dipper. He had a crush on me that first summer, but I turned him down pretty quickly. The same day that we first met the shapeshifter, actually.”

“Good,” replied Pacifica, leaning backwards. “That’s what he told me too.”

“And you didn’t believe him?” asked Wendy in astonishment. “That doesn’t seem very… healthy.”

“Of course I believed him!” cried Pacifica, throwing her hands up. “He just… even after he told me that, he’s always wanted to run and see you, to hang out with you. We might be dating, but sometimes it seems like he likes you more.”

“Well, what have you done to make him like you?” asked Wendy, leaning forward and poking Pacifica in the chest. Since she was only wearing the sweatshirt, Pacifica felt the fine indentation of Wendy’s nails against her skin, causing her breath to hitch. Maybe her cutting her hair hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

“Everything,” sighed Pacifica, slouching over. “I’ve gone on mystery hunts with him, fought monsters, even saved his life. Everything that he’s into?”

“Everything?” Wendy snickered to herself, making a lewd gesture with her hands. “You’re awful young to be doing things like that.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” defended Pacifica, blushing. Losing her energy, she slumped back. “You just make him run to you so effortlessly. With us, it’s always been different. Even though things have changed since we first met—a lot, actually—I think that there’s a little part of him that still sees me as a Northwest.”

"Probably because you are a Northwest,” pointed out Wendy. “He may look courageous on the outside, especially when he’s fighting something twice his size, but that’s just because he doesn’t know any better. Inside, he’s way more anxious than he lets on.”

“Believe me,” said Pacifica, “I know.” She thought back to their many late night conversations before they had even gotten together, with Dipper fretting about what he saw as their inevitable end as a couple. “But what does that have to do with him not liking me as much?”

“First, he doesn’t _like_ you any less than me,” answered Wendy, picking up the salt and pepper shakers on the table and attempting to balance them on top of each other. “There are just different ways of expressing it. But the reason he may not show it as much is because he still _is_ scared of you. That one day some Northwest switch will flip in your brain and you’ll sell him to some traveling gypsies for a dime.”

“He’s worth way more than a dime,” said Pacifica, smiling as she crossed her arms.

“Maybe a quarter,” acknowledged Wendy, bowing her head with a grin.

“I don’t know how to make him feel any safer than I already am, though,” said Pacifica. “I don’t want to be the only one doing all the work here, either. He has to meet me halfway.”

“He hasn’t really had the opportunity to do that since you got together, though,” replied Wendy. “He told me that he came up here once during October, but that was it. Tomorrow will be his opportunity to show you that he cares, at this big shindig you’re apparently having. You bought all the tinsel and forced Soos to make his own out of dead tree bark,” smiled Wendy.

“It smells better!” called Soos from the other room, during a brief interval between the cacophony of power tools. Pacifica wasn’t sure how much Soos was actual able to hear what they were saying, but she doubted that he would do anything malicious with the information anyway.

“That wasn’t me,” blushed Pacifica, rolling her eyes. “That was entirely my dad.”

“Huh,” shrugged Wendy. “I would have thought that tinsel would be more your mom’s thing.”

“My mom’s thing is white wine and going to her book club—which is just an excuse to pretend like everyone’s reading but gossip about each other instead,” said Pacifica, resting her chin on the kitchen table. The light in the socket overhead was strangely soothing, relaxing even though she could distinctly smell the char left from this morning’s breakfast.

“My mom’s thing was the caber toss,” replied Wendy. “No matter how hard my dad tried, he could never get that pole to land quite as straight as she did.”

“She sounds cool,” answered Pacifica, lifting her eyes to meet Wendy’s face. She had a hard expression on her face, though an undeniable tenderness lurked in her eyes.

“She was,” said Wendy, the pepper shaker tumbling down and sending a cloud of the black particles into Pacifica’s face. Immediately pulling back, Pacifica sneezed loudly, barely able to get her nose into her elbow in time.

“Sorry!” exclaimed Wendy as she set the shakers upright and wiped off the pepper that had spilled onto the floor. “That was my bad. I got distracted.”

“It’s no big deal,” said Pacifica, wiping her nose. “Just a sneeze. At least it’s not like Dipper’s.”

“Ah, he does sound like a kitten, doesn’t he?” laughed Wendy. “Three years and that still hasn’t changed.”

“I don’t think it ever will,” smiled Pacifica in silence. She was, now, content with what she had heard from Wendy, and could undoubtedly sleep easier in the coming night. She considered simply standing up and going upstairs, since Dipper would soon be done with his shower—but she felt that there was something more that needed to be said.

“I’m sorry,” she began, as clearly as she could. “About… not trusting you. And about your mom.”

“None of it’s your fault,” replied Wendy, her voice calm, but cool. “I know what you came from. I know how hard it is to live with a family that’s all one way, and you know deep down that you’re meant to be something else. I also know that your ancestors murdered my great-great-greatgrandfather and half of the lumberjacks.” Her voice grew hard as steel, and Pacifica felt herself recoiling slightly in her chair. Wendy closed her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing.

“And I would be lying if I said that I had never wondered where my family would be now if that hadn’t happened—if your family had helped us all out, instead of throwing us under the bus. If you had honored your promise, instead of lying. If maybe, my father could provide for us all without worrying about when the next order of lumber was going to come in. If my mom didn’t have to go on that scouting trip for new forests and rare trees, if she would still be around.” Wendy’s breath was hot, tears forming in her eyes, though she blinked them back.

“I think about how much your family has fucked mine over in the past, and sometimes I want to punch you right in your smug face until you give me what I deserve,” cried Wendy. Pacifica’s face was frozen, having slowly lifted her chin from the table and gathered her hands in her lap, ready to throw them up if need be. She hoped that Dipper would emerge from his shower soon. Wendy took a shaky breath.

“But then, I realize that you can never give us what we deserve. No one can. It’s impossible to change what has happened.

“So, instead, I think about you. How you tormented Mabel, and tricked Dipper into sacrificing his life to be turned into a chainsaw sculpture exactly like the shapeshifter had said.” Pacifica winced—she supposed that Dipper had given his life for her against that ghost—but this was the first that she was hearing about the shapeshifter’s involvement. She wanted to ask Wendy about it, but wanted to avoid interrupting like her life depended on it.

“And then, I think about how you’ve changed,” continued Wendy, beginning to get her emotions back under control. “How you and Dipper are really a good thing together, even if you have trouble seeing it sometimes. How you and Mabel crack jokes and get along so well—almost like sisters. I even saw your half-finished sketches on the living room floor.”

“I think about how you’ve changed, and I hope that it might be enough,” she sniffled. “That you might start to be better, and that you can try, in some small way, to make up for the past. That’s why Dipper’s scared of you. Because I’m scared of you.” There was a long pause.

“Or anyway,” she whispered, wiping her nose with a nearby napkin. “That’s just my two cents.”

There was nothing that Pacifica could say to that. The few times that she had seen Wendy before, she had never shown so much emotion—Pacifica didn’t even believe her capable of it. She was more shocked and frightened now than she had been all day, even trapped underground, even against the shapeshifter—caught off guard in her pajamas, her hair up in a filthy pink towel.

She had been confronted with her family’s past in a way more visceral and real than all of the paintings stored away in the corridors of the Manor—the tears running down the lines in Wendy’s face spoke to the hours of stress and worry that her family had inflicted. She hadn’t even known—as such, her reaction was muted, too in shock to cry. The legacy of her name, just as she began to imagine herself free from it, snapped around her ankle like a ball and chain.

Pacifica stood, shakily, as she heard the water in the bathroom turn off. She walked over to where Wendy was sitting, and opened her arms, wrapping them around Wendy’s head and pulling her to her chest. She simply didn’t know what else to do, other than try to hug her. No words would have worked.

Wendy initially pulled her head away as Pacifica reached for her, lifting up her hand and preparing to push the blonde away. After a moment’s pause, however, she accepted the hug—reaching her own arms up and around Pacifica’s waist, holding her tightly. Pacifica could feel the heat coming off of the redhead’s flushed face, even as Wendy could feel the rapid thumping of Pacifica’s heart.

“Wow,” muttered Wendy into Pacifica’s hoodie. “You’re wearing those stupid welding goggles, but not a bra? Naughty.” Wendy snickered as Pacifica rolled her eyes—she didn’t care what implications Wendy threw her way. Having just exposed herself, Wendy was trying to regain her sense of coolness. As such, when they both heard the door to the bathroom open and the tread of Dipper’s feet advance down the hall, they pulled apart.

Pacifica took a deep breath and walked towards the stairs, meeting up with Dipper just as he turned into the foyer. His hair was still wet, and he wore the same t-shirt and gym shorts that he had worn to bed yesterday. She extended her hand to his and grabbed him, leading him up the stairs without a word. Slightly dumbstruck, he only regained his ability to speak once they were halfway up the stairs.

“Good night Wendy! Good night Soos!” he called back down the stairs. Wendy lifted her hand in a stoic wave, never turning and showing Dipper her face. Wendy’s inner world would remain unknown to him, for now.

“Night dudes!” called Soos, pausing only briefly before he continued the construction of the support beams. Despite his busy day, and the fact that it was past one in the morning, he worked tirelessly to keep the Shack intact.

Pacifica breathed a sigh of relief when Dipper finally stepped inside the attic, and she closed the door behind them. She considered locking it, but decided against it—Wendy would be smart enough to knock, and smart enough to stop Soos from going upstairs at all. She wanted an easy escape route in case they needed to evacuate the building.

Opening her eyes, she heard a clatter as Dipper dumped his dirty laundry in a pile on the floor. It was uncouth, but she could hardly blame him—there was no hamper in the attic, and she wouldn’t put those filthy clothes anywhere near her clean ones until they had been thoroughly scrubbed and sanitized.

He appeared to have taken a full shower, which made Pacifica feel slightly worse about having not fully cleansed herself. Though—based on the state of Dipper’s bed, it likely wouldn’t make too much difference. Despite only having been in town for a day, Dipper’s bed was beginning to show signs of wear. Still, Pacifica was largely too tired to care.

She watched as Dipper walked over to his bed and flopped into it, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. Pacifica waited until he was fully situated before she flipped the lights off and walked over to him. The snowstorm outside had abated, but the thick blanket of fluffy clouds remained over the valley, rendering the night almost completely dark. She moved slowly, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the little light that filtered in from downstairs and outside.

She soon saw the shimmer of Dipper’s eyes—they weren’t yet closed, and were clearly tracking her as she advanced towards the bed. As she approached, he extended his arm for her to snuggle into—with both of them wearing relatively warm clothing for sleeping, the sharing of their body heat would be enough to keep them warm without covers.

As Pacifica took the final step and lifted her knee to prop herself up onto the bed, she winced as she felt her toes impact with something hard and metal beneath Dipper’s bed. Grunting, she was unable to stop herself from falling forward and landing on Dipper’s abdomen, knocking the breath out of him for a brief moment.

“I’m sorry!” exclaimed Pacifica, pulling her leg onto the bed and feeling her toes—they appeared fine, but there would likely be some bruising. This would only add to the pain she would experience in her high heels, the blisters already making things bad enough.

Kneeling on the mattress, she bent and hung her head over the side, looking down beneath the frame. She could see nothing.

In a flash, she realized that she was still wearing the welding goggles, which, in the low light, made it almost impossible to see. She ripped them off of her face and threw them across the room, having been fed up with them for long enough. As she did so, the towel atop her head unraveled and tumbled to the floor. Her hair was dry enough to be free.

Now that she could see, she immediately recognized the red cylinder beneath the bedframe—the red fire extinguisher that Dipper had commented on last night. She pushed it further beneath the bed, not wanting to accidentally kick it again. As she did so, however, she felt the warmth and pressure of a large, warm hand against her right hip.

She smiled and gave in as Dipper pulled her up and onto the bed, turning her to face him and wrapping her in his arms. This had been the first time since Astoria that they had gotten the chance to share a bed together, and she reveled in the warmth of his arms, and the headiness of his scent. So close to him, she could feel the gentle scrape of her hoodie against her chest as she wrapped her hands into his hair and pulled his face to hers.

They had both been waiting for this, since they had first laid eyes on each other in Greasy’s yesterday. Even with the conversation Pacifica had had with Wendy playing in the back of her mind, she couldn’t deny the surge of emotion pulsing through her now, impatient and wanting. Having been denied the privacy again and again, feelings left to boil now rushed forward in a tremendous wave.

Pacifica felt a shock go through her as their lips met, his skin still slightly damp from the shower. For a brief moment, their teeth collided, causing Pacifica to pull back with a chuckle before surging forward again. Her body was exhausted, but a final burst of energy she didn’t know she still had raced through her as Dipper’s hands began to tease at the hem of her hoodie, tracing the smooth skin of her back and stomach.

As his hands moved, she could feel the difference between where she had splashed water and where she had not—where the oily sheen still resided on her skin, his hands felt rougher, more aggressive. He caressed her shoulder blades, hands spreading almost the entire span of her shoulders as he pulled her into him, legs interlacing.

At that moment, he seemed to realize that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Tentatively, despite the fact that he had both seen and felt her topless before, his hands drifted to her chest. He moved slowly at first, but more powerfully once Pacifica broke away from his lips to gasp in shuddering pleasure.

“Shhh…” he whispered to her, a devilish smile on his face. “Don’t be too loud. We wouldn’t want Wendy or Soos to know what we were up to.” Pacifica, her eyes closed, grinned back.

“I think they probably have their suspicions,” she replied, using his damp hair to pull his head back and expose his throat. Now, it was his turn to gasp as she kissed along his jawline and down to his shoulder blades before pulling back up.

Her hands fumbled at the hemline of his shirt, reaching up to caress his abdomen. She knew it was probably only because of the day’s activities and his lack of food, but his muscles felt even more defined than usual. He giggled at the touch of her fingers, but soon smothered his laugh in her lips.

She panted as she felt one of his hands leave her chest and begin venturing down her back, toying at the slight elastic band of her underwear, fingers subtly slipping beneath the flannel hem of her pants. She smiled into his kiss as her hands began drifting downwards as well.

Despite only toying at the upper hem of his gym shorts, she could already feel the rapid pulse of his heartbeat. Her hands slipped lower, fingers barely passing by the upper elastic before he suddenly withdrew his entire body with a wince and a groan.

Pacifica flew back in a panic—in Dipper’s pain, he had squeezed her a little harder than she had been expecting, surprising her as well. Her hands rushed to his chest as their heads parted, looking at each other closely in the darkness.

“What is it?” she whispered to him. “Does something hurt?”

“Yeah,” Dipper grimaced, pointing to the wound on his arm that the shapeshifter had inflicted. A new, dark patch of cherry blood was pooling around it, saturating the gauze. Despite the fact that his arm was barely involved in what was going on, the sudden burst of activity had strained the tentative scab to its breaking point.

“Do I need to go downstairs and get some bandages?” asked Pacifica, sitting up and trying to smooth out her hair as Dipper vaulted over her, standing up woozily.

“No, I don’t think so,” he replied, crouching as he began to search through the bag he had brought. “I should have enough in here to cover it.”

He pulled out a long spool of bandages and tossed them to Pacifica, who snatched them out of the air easily. Dipper kicked up from the floor, landing on the edge of the bed as Pacifica tried to find the end of the fabric.

Finding it, she gently took Dipper’s arm and began to rewrap the wound. She left the original bandages on, not wanting to mess with them before the stitches had had more time to settle. Dipper sighed as Pacifica doctored him.

"What is it?” she asked, smiling lightly in the darkness.

“Every time we wind up together, able to spend some time alone, I’m injured,” he grumbled, using his other arm to tap the scar that the dyre had left on his calf. “We have really bad luck together.”

“You mean _you_ have really bad luck,” laughed Pacifica. “You’re the one who’s injured all the time. It’s just my job to keep you from falling apart.”

“Thanks for that, by the way,” answered Dipper with a grin. Pacifica tore off the bandages with her teeth and tied the new ones in place, tossing the used roll in the vague direction of Dipper’s bag. “I don’t think I tell you that enough.” He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips—a kiss she returned eagerly, pushing forward and placing a hand on his leg. Quickly, Dipper pulled away, lifting her hand off of him and setting it on the bed.

Pacifica looked at him in disbelief.

“I’m sorry,” he said, hanging his head. “I know you wanted to do more tonight, but I just don’t think I can handle it. Between everything that happened today, and everything that’s going to happen tomorrow… it’s just too much.” Pacifica drew her hands back and placed them in her lap, trembling slightly as she felt the pressure of her own weight.

“Dipper,” she said, looking at the gentle shimmer of his eyes in the night. “Are you afraid of me?”

“Afraid of you, Pacifica?” he asked, confused. “No, I don’t think so. That’s definitely not why I don’t want to sleep with you. I really want to—you could tell that earlier. It’s just not the right move right now.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” she whispered. “What I meant was, are you afraid of the Northwest part of me?” Dipper was silent for a moment, turning to look at Mabel’s wall. His eyes no longer in sight, the only sign of his presence was a silhouette slightly darker than the rest of the room and his shallow breathing.

“I don’t know if ‘afraid’ is the word,” he finally answered. “’Nervous’ is probably more accurate. Anxious.”

“But is that because of the Northwest in me, or because of all the Northwest around me?” wondered Pacifica aloud. 

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” mumbled Dipper. “You can’t separate the two like that.” He paused.

“Tomorrow is the first time that I’m going to be in your world. I’ve been to your parties before, but always as a friend, or on a mission. This time is going to be different. You’re so strong, and I’ve seen what the Northwest history did to you. I don’t know what it’ll do to me.” Dipper swallowed.

“Well, you’re not a Northwest,” said Pacifica, gently grabbing his shoulders and guiding him back down into the bed. “You’re a Pines, which is an entirely different kind of messed up.

“Instead of fancy parties, fashion, and money, you have stupid adventures, stupid trench coats, and stupid delicious Mexican restaurants,” she continued.

“I’m noticing that ‘stupid’ is the common theme,” answered Dipper with a smile.

“Because it is,” said Pacifica, leaning forward and kissing Dipper again. This time, as much as her hands wanted to lace into his hair, she kept them delicately folded in front of her. He kissed back—warm, but the fire behind it had been extinguished for the night.

“Just like ‘fancy’ is the common theme for my life,” she continued. “You’re going to need to be fancy tomorrow too. So, unless you want me to cover your face in makeup, I think we should try to sleep. Just to get a little rest.”

“I like that idea,” said Dipper, yawning as he laid on his back, instead of turning to his side. He interlaced his fingers with Pacifica’s but soon withdrew them when he felt the pressure that it put on his wounded arm. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to her. “I don’t know if we can snuggle tonight—this cut is much deeper than the dyre one was.”

“It’s fine,” said Pacifica, swallowing as her vision of a warm night together evaporated before her. Though the fire below had restored some heat to her body, it would take much more than that to fully bring her temperature back to normal.

She started to reach out to place her hand on his chest, only to be rebuffed when he turned to lay on his right side, facing the wall. His bandaged arm, still weeping blood, lay on top of him.

Pacifica couldn’t hold him without disturbing his arm. Sniffling, she closed her eyes and started to feel about as she grabbed the blanket crumpled up at the bottom of the bed. Without Dipper as her furnace, she was going to need to make her own heat.

She turned and pulled her legs up to her chest as she wrapped the blanket around her tightly. She didn’t even attempt to close her eyes, staring distantly off into the darkness. Her only contact with Dipper was back to back, through three layers of fabric. Despite that, she could feel the gentle rise and fall of his torso as he slept.

Soon, her own exhaustion caught up with her, and Pacifica finally fell into a cold and dreamless sleep.


	19. Fashion

Pacifica exhaled loudly as she stepped out of her shower, relieved to finally be clean. Her hair had been subjected to five different shampoos and conditioners, her body scrubbed with a loofah and a much more refined body wash. Steam poured out of the glass doors behind her, fogging up the large mirror that hung on the wall in front of her vanity. She reached for a white, fluffy towel, drying her face and coiling the fabric around her neck as she stepped out onto the heated tile floor.

The day had dawned that morning, bright and beautiful. The world was still covered in a thick layer of white, but the wind had died down and left only a friendly chill in the air. As used as she had grown to the heat and humidity of the summer, Pacifica was overjoyed for a simple change of pace.

The snow had ended later in the night, and the road crews had been busy—though ice remained on the pavement in some places, most of the snow had been brushed to the side and the road thoroughly covered with salt. Wendy had offered to drive them up to the Manor, but Francine had proven more than capable of doing the job.

Pacifica stepped over to her mirror, using the side of her hand to wipe the fog away. Through the remaining streaks, she examined her face.

Though a few crinkles at the edge of her eyes betrayed how tired she still was, the quiet night of sleep in the Mystery Shack had done wonders. The dark circles on her cheeks had faded away, and her eyes had regained a tiny glimmer of their former sparkle. However, the pale red lines left by the goggles remained—Dipper had made her wear them throughout the entire drive to the manor and into the building itself.

They had woken up together in his bed, in almost exactly the same position they had fallen asleep in—between their awkward positioning and own exhaustion, neither had moved very much. The sun was high in the sky when their eyes cracked open, having slept for almost ten hours straight. It wasn’t the most that either of them had ever slept, having once passed out after a day-long _Bloodcraft_ binge sometime in November.

Upon waking up, Pacifica had rolled out of the bed and crouched on the floor like a cat before finally standing up. Dipper moved move slowly, using his arm strength to slowly prop himself up as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. Pacifica changed into the clothes that she had originally worn to the sleepover, facing away from Dipper—not that she particularly cared if he saw her, but it seemed a subtle way of expressing her dissatisfaction at the events of last night.

Behind her, Dipper did the same, taking special care to make sure that the bandages around his arm remained secure. After the scab was torn last night, blood had continued to seep from the wound for hours until it finally stopped.

The final thing that Pacifica did was pull the welding goggles over her eyes—she considered leaving them behind, but knew that Dipper would tell her to put them on. She could feel an itch at the base of her skull as she stretched the band over her hair—the itch of discomfort not from the physical sensation of the googles, but the sensation of being told to wear them authoritatively when Dipper hadn’t listened to what she had said about the shapeshifter, or been reassuring when she asked him about the burden of her name.

They spoke little as they headed downstairs, finding Soos and Wendy still working on the new supports and reinforcements. Wendy had crashed on the couch, while Soos had passed out in his own bed for a few hours. They both moved incredibly quickly, hopped up on the Mabel Juice 2.0 from yesterday’s breakfast that still resided in the fridge.

The central log holding up the ceiling still remained in place, and would until repairs could be completed fully. The supports that Soos had attached to the vertical pillars interlaced in architectural triangles, crossing each other in a complex web of timber. The debris that had been on the floor—the few remaining shards of glass and wet playing cards, had been vacuumed up and disposed of. The axolotl now sat on the kitchen counter, resting calmly on a small rock that someone had placed into its bowl—the lobster, however, remained in the sink, nested in a pile of dirty dishes and silverware.

Pacifica had her bag slung over her shoulder as she turned to the main door. Dipper spoke to Wendy briefly, but Pacifica never made eye contact with her—she could feel the weight of what Wendy had said last night still hanging in the air, even though the night had ended in a hug. She needed more time to decompress and think about what she was going to say before she returned to speak to the redhead.

Together, she and Dipper had walked to Francine. For once, Pacifica was actually slightly glad that she was wearing the welding glasses—the reflectivity of the snow bounced the sunlight back so powerfully that it genuinely hurt to look at. The truck, as cold as it was, sputtered a few times before it finally choked to life.

On the drive up to the manor, now in the early afternoon, the two of them listened to Toby give them an update on the radio. No new sinkholes had opened overnight, and it appeared that the worst of the snow was behind them. However, the forecast called for slight rain as night approached, coupled with winds approaching thirty miles per hour. Staying safe and secure inside would be the best thing to do, lest they accidentally get stranded outside.

The problem of the shapeshifter remained at the forefront of their minds—last night, it had vanished into the darkness, and hadn’t been spotted since. The blood test would be enough to keep it from infiltrating the Northwest Christmas Eve Party, but that was only a stopgap measure at best. With Stan and Waddles injured, and Mabel and Melody sidelined taking care of them, they were only operating at half strength. Ford wanted to be there for his brother as well—but he knew that Stan would berate him endlessly if he woke up and discovered that he had avoided dealing with the actual problem to stay by his brother’s bedside.

Tonight, however, they would be secure. The most difficult thing they were going to have to deal with was the trials and tribulations of high society. Pacifica already had their wardrobe picked out—it was simply a matter of getting ready and keeping their heads level throughout the event.

As Francine passed through the gates, Pacifica saw a catering truck parked outside as an army of workers carried covered trays into the Manor. Though the guests were going to be fewer, the number of staffers would be the same as at the Northwest Fest—supposedly so more personalized attention could be lavished on the immediate members of the Northwest and Southeast families.

Pacifica had still not mentioned the existence of Samuel to Dipper. She had been meaning to, but the time for it never felt right. She recognized that her window was closing, however, and that she would need to tell Dipper before Preston shoved the three of them into a room together and waited for nature to take its course. Despite years of perfectly platonic friendship between Pacifica and Sam, her father clung to the ever-receding hope that they would one day be inexplicably attracted to each other.

Now that Dipper was in the picture, she had no doubt that her father, with the implicit consent of Sam’s parents, would redouble his efforts to make Sam seem as eligible a bachelor to Pacifica as possible. In previous years, they had tried to make Pacifica as appealing as possible by mentioning her golfing records, artistic accomplishments, and general attractiveness. However, Sam never took it upon himself to make a move, forcing the adults to shift their tactics.

The shift had been met with similarly little success, but they still showed no signs of slowing down. If anything, as the teenagers grew older, they fought with more effort than ever to pair them up together. Dipper, however, posed an existential threat to their plans. He didn’t realize it, but he was more dangerous to the Northwest reputation than the Corduroy ghost had ever been. Telling him, of course, would cause him to begin panicking and overanalyzing things, which would be counterproductive to making him seem suitably elegant and refined.

Now within the grounds, Dipper was directed by the staffers to drive around to the back of the house, where Francine could be hidden out of sight of the guests. Pacifica’s Tesla remained at the Mystery Shack, where it had been parked two days ago. She had considered driving it back to the Manor, but Dipper didn’t trust the electric vehicle on the icy roads. Pacifica knew that it could handle the slippery asphalt perfectly, but didn’t protest—leaving it at the Shack merely provided her with an excuse to return later.

Pulling the truck to a rumbling stop, Pacifica reached around to grab her bag from the backseat. They walked around to the front door, where the conveyor belt for decorations had thankfully been removed. Slipping between two staffers carrying trays loaded with roasted duck, they stepped into the main foyer, the grand staircase rising majestically above them.

This was the first time that Dipper had seen the Manor decorated for Christmas, in all of its glory. Strands of red, gold, and green tinsel hung from every available surface, included the few animal heads that were scattered about the room. Each doorknob and newel post had a pair of silver bells attached to it, dangling from a golden rope.

The true centerpiece, however, was the Christmas tree. Having been cut the day before, it sat off to the left side of the room, towering at almost twenty feet tall. The gentle rustle of its branches sent the scent of pine wafting throughout the room, competing with the succulent aroma rising from the covered platters that were being brought into the kitchen.

The only ornaments on the trees were perfectly shiny spheres, in traditional colors—blue, white, red, green, gold, and silver. There were no souvenir ornaments purchased on road trips, or handmade ones with poor grammar and lumpy construction that Pacifica had made as a child. It was an immaculate tree—standing in sharp contrast to the tree that hung upside down from the rafters in the Mystery Shack, laden with handmade ornaments full of memories, and tinsel that smelled of the sun shining through the summer redwoods.

“Ah, Pacifica,” Preston’s voice echoed throughout the foyer as he walked into the room, pausing at the top of the stairs. Both Pacifica and Dipper momentarily froze as their eyes glanced up to meet his. “I’m glad to see that you’ve returned safely after the unpleasant storm last night.” He wasn’t wearing his traditional suit—instead, he had donned his home clothes of a white collared shirt and loose khakis. Pacifica could feel Dipper beside her struggling between respectfully making eye contact and taking in his astonishing wardrobe change. 

“Yes,” replied Pacifica, reaching out and taking Dipper’s hand. Preston narrowed his eyes. “I’m just glad that the roads were clear enough for us to drive up here today,” she continued.

“Well, I suppose that that… automobile of yours is capable of climbing any mountain,” said Preston, flatly. Pacifica felt Dipper squeeze her hand. “But, Pacifica, as you are aware, the Southeasts are scheduled to arrive at five-thirty, with dinner being served at seven. You will need to be… cleaned up by then,” he continued, lip crinkling beneath his mustache. Despite Pacifica’s hasty attempt at washing herself last night, her father seemed to be able to detect the dishevelment lurking beneath the surface.

“Of course,” replied Pacifica. “We were just about to go take a shower.”

“What?” Preston asked sternly, slamming his hand onto the nearest post and causing the bells wrapped around it to jingle menacingly.

“Not what I meant!” defended Pacifica, instantly letting go of Dipper’s hand and stepping away. She trusted that her father could be reasonable in most cases, but the idea of his daughter and Dipper sharing in any kind of nudity would have been beyond the pale. “I am going to take a shower in my room, paint my nails, and brush my teeth. Dipper is going to go to McGucket’s wing of the manor and do the same.”

“Why do I have to brush my teeth?” Dipper whined. “I did that this morning.” Pacifica quickly stepped on his foot, silencing him with a grimace.

“That’s better,” replied Preston, removing his hand from the bells. The anger on his face, however, never wavered. “Remember, Pacifica, that we are Northwests. We must maintain certain standards of decorum.”

“Of course, father,” she said, lowering her eyes to the ground. Preston turned and stalked away into the interior hallways of the Manor, almost vanishing completely before he answered.

“And Pacifica, please take those absurd glasses off. They do nothing for your skin tone, and you know my feelings on cosplayers.” With that, he receded into the shadows. 

“Good thinking,” whispered Dipper into Pacifica’s ear, completely ignoring his comments about the goggles. “I wouldn’t want him finding out about us in the shower either.”

“I wasn’t joking about that,” replied Pacifica, stepping away from him. “As much as I can tell that you want to hop in the shower with me, that’s not going to happen here. Not now, at least. There’s too much that I need to do to get ready for this party to have you distracting me.”

“And am I distracting?” asked Dipper, playfully pouting.

“Less so by the second,” retorted Pacifica snarkily. Dipper rolled his eyes with a grin and shook his head. “Which way to McGucket’s room?” he asked, looking up the stairs.

“Honestly, just pick a direction and start walking. We were only able to rent back the front wing of the Manor after the weirdness bubble burst. If you see tubes and cables, follow them and you’ll find him soon enough,” answered Pacifica as they headed up the main staircase. “He was working outside yesterday morning, but he’s probably inside today because of the snow.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve been able to hang out with McGucket,” said Dipper, looking up as he tried to spot any cable that may have been mounted to the ceiling. “It will be good to catch up with him again.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” said Pacifica, aware of how she only had a few hours to get both herself and Dipper ready for the festivities. “Just remember that you’re supposed to shower and get as spotless as you can. I want us to look good tonight.”

“I always look good,” smiled Dipper, causing Pacifica to roll her eyes. “But what, am I just supposed to ask to use his bathroom?”

“He’s got seventeen bathrooms,” answered Pacifica. “Even if he and his raccoon wife have separate rooms, there’s plenty of space for you to slip in somewhere. After you’re done, go to his workshop and have a talk—I’ll meet you there when I can.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dipper replied, cracking his knuckles. “I’ll see you… soon, then.” With that, he kissed Pacifica on the cheek and turned into one of the Manor’s many hallways. Pacifica smiled, knowing that he was headed the exact opposite direction from where he needed to be. She was confident that he would eventually find his way.

Taking her bag off of her shoulder and instead holding it under her arm, she made her way to her room. There, she tossed the bag onto her desk and immediately went to her bathroom, relieved to finally take a proper shower.

She scoured herself completely, letting the hot water cascade over her and making sure that no specks of dirt remained. Afterwards, standing before the mirror, she used her white towel to dry herself off completely before she opened the door to the rest of her room. The steam, finally able to escape, rushed out of the bathroom and left a slight chill on her skin.

She walked over to her dresser and pulled on a pair of tight, white cotton boyshorts—nothing fancy, for now. However, she left the rest of herself exposed as she crossed over and sat at her vanity.

Reaching into a pale white cabinet, she pulled out a small vial of light pink nail polish. She didn’t have enough time to paint them properly, but she could at least touch up the chips, scratches, and scores that had been left by clawing her way through the tunnels yesterday. Her toes would have to remain untouched—but, since she didn’t plan on taking her shoes off for anybody but Dipper, that wouldn’t be an issue.

Splaying the fingers on her left hand out, she gently dipped the foam tipped brush into the pink liquid and started to patch up the damage. As she started to descend on her ring finger, however, she paused, and looked closer at the nail. A microscopic crack ran down the center of it, causing an unsightly ridge in the paint. She sighed—there was nothing she could do about that now but let time take its course. Still, she layered the polish on a little heavier in an attempt to cover it up.

Having completed her left hand, she switched to her right, using her forearm as leverage to make sure that her hand was steady—she was much less coordinated with her left hand than her right. Holding her breath as she finished her pinky finger, she let loose a sigh of relief as she inserted the brush back into the bottle, screwing the top on.

She stood up from her vanity, making sure that the door was locked as she walked across the room to her closet—she didn’t want anyone to catch her fresh out of the shower, with her damp hair dangling loosely down her back. Though her room had large windows, she was safe from prying eyes up on the second floor.

She gently pinched the doorknob open, using her foot to open the door. She waved her hands about and blew on her nails in an attempt to dry them. She had spent so long plotting out her and Dipper’s wardrobe for the party that she didn’t want to risk ruining it with an errant splash of pink so close to the end.

Her closet was normally overstuffed with clothes, the poles barely able to support the weight of the hangers upon them. Shoes were typically scattered about on the shelves, making finding a partner for them difficult—or, at least, that was how her closet had been up until a few months ago.

When Dipper had come up to visit her in October, they had gone through her closet together and cleaned out the things that she no longer wore. Or, more accurately, that she could no longer fit in. Just like Mabel’s llama sweater, there were dozens of dresses and blouses that she had simply outgrown. Keeping them around made her feel like she had options for what to wear, but Dipper had accurately pointed out that they were just taking up space.

Some items had been obviously too small. A few, however, she had to try on—Dipper hadn’t complained at the impromptu fashion show, and it made her feel surprisingly attractive to be a model for him. Like at the end of the summer, however, Preston had made her keep the door open, so there was a limit to what she could wear.

Once her closet had been cleaned out, they had loaded the excess clothes into bags and smuggled them out to Francine—if Preston had seen them removing the clothes, he would have insisted that they be sold to maximize their profit. Dipper, however, suggested that they be donated to the local thrift store—Pacifica wholeheartedly agreed.

She found the thrift store quaint and charming. There was nothing in there that she wanted, of course, but she was pleased to see the ecstatic faces of the owners as they went through the clothes—she had a feeling that a lot of the girls at the Gravity Falls High School prom next year would share her taste in fashion.

Her closet was now pristine and well organized, with plenty of space for new additions, and each shoe paired with its partner. However, she was only focused on the crown jewel of her wardrobe, a dress suspended from a velvet hanger at the far end of the closet.

Her private school had taken a weeklong trip to Paris in early November, and she had immediately fallen in love with the dress. She wasn’t overly fond of the city itself, but she couldn’t deny their impeccable taste in fashion.

The dress itself was an icy blue, like the light that shines through an untouched glacier. Studded throughout the silk georgette fabric were miniscule diamonds, making the dress shimmer and twinkle when exposed to the slightest light—they were artificial diamonds, but that didn’t make them shine any less. The bodice was close fitting, and supported by two thick bands that arced over her shoulders before crossing at her shoulder blades. Though there were no sleeves and a large amount of her back was exposed, the neckline was modest, only showing the slightest bit of cleavage. The skirt came all the way down to her ankles, hugging her hips, yet allowing her legs the freedom to move.

Accompanying the dress was a stole made of white arctic fox fur, the pure white of the hairs fading to a translucent and sparkling silver towards the tips. She knew the fur was real, but she was less sure of how it had been harvested. As much as she had been trying to improve herself, animal rights were not at the forefront of her mind.

Accompanying the dress were a pair of glistening silver high heels, along with a set of solid gold earrings—their delicate spirals the only warm color amidst the cool tones of the rest of the ensemble. She had purchased the earrings separately, but hoped that they would complement both her hair and the pale blue of both the dress and her eyes.

She blew on her nails again as she smiled at the dress. She had only worn it once before, to get it fitted properly, and was eager to wear it in public for the first time. Satisfied that the polish was dry, she took the hanger from the pole and transferred the dress to the peg next to her three-sided mirror. She stepped into the middle of the mirrors and removed the dress from the hanger, ready to put it on when something in the reflection caught her eye.

Concealed amidst her everyday clothes was a hanger that seemed to have nothing on it. However, this was an illusion—what really hung from it was simply tucked back behind other fabrics in an attempt to keep it concealed. Pacifica placed the dress back on the peg as she went to the empty hanger, reaching into the back of her closet as she pulled it out.

Suspended from the hanger was a bra and a pair of panties—deep, oceanic blue, with the softest silk woven into intricate, lacing patterns, causing a tickling sensation in her fingers as she felt the bumps and ridges. She smirked as she looked at them—she wished that she could have worn them back in Astoria. That had been the last time she and Dipper had been able to really be together, and she wasn’t sure when the next time they were going to be alone was. With luck, she would be able to show these off sometime during the winter break.

However, she couldn’t wear them with her party dress—it was meant to be worn without a bra, and the dress fit well enough around her hips that only the smoothest cotton underwear was an option. She would have to save the fancy material for later.

Shaking her head, she turned back around to her three way mirror and unhooked the dress. She lifted it over her head and, pointing her arms like a diver, let the fabric fall over her. Despite the diamonds studding the outside, the inside was smooth and well fitting. She turned around and admired herself, making sure that everything was properly positioned. Next, she bent over and hooked her heels with two fingers, lifting them up as she grabbed the golden earrings and slung the white stole over her shoulder. She had to do her makeup before she slipped into the more uncomfortable things.

Crossing back into the main room, she sat down at her vanity and pulled out her finest makeup kit, letting her hair continue to dry as she started to add foundation and blush, using only the slightest bit of eye shadow to mask the lines of sleeplessness and worry that had been left from yesterday. She considered doing winged eyeliner, but decided that it wouldn’t go with the rest of her ensemble.

Tweezers plucked out the few remaining errant brow hairs, wincing as she pulled each one. That done, she reached out to a small vial resting on the main vanity and squirted some perfume onto her hands and neck. Finally, she opened her left hand drawer, exposing rows upon rows of lipstick. There was a small light in the drawer that came on automatically, ensuring that she could see the colors properly. She considered her options as her fingers danced over the tubes.

Anything too pink would melt into the light colors of the rest of the wardrobe, while anything too deeply red would clash and be distracting. Finally, she settled on a shade in the middle—a light, but not bright, apple red, tinged with the slightest hint of purple. Pursing her lips, she gently dragged the stick across them, smiling as she traced the edge with a master’s touch.

She reached back and fluffed her hair, now satisfied that it had dried enough from her shower. She retrieved a brush, and started to meticulously smooth it down, wincing as she pulled out all of the violent tangles that had crept in since yesterday.

After a few minutes of this, she placed the brush down, seeing it clogged with the hairs that she had pulled out. She took a deep breath as she gathered up the strands and started attempting to braid her hair. Usually she had a servant or her mother to help with this, but the servants were all distracted with party preparations, and her mother was likely overseeing the champagne selection.

She had braided her own hair before, but it still wasn’t easy. She closed her eyes, finding it easier to feel the strands when she didn’t have to worry about processing visual information. Soon, she had to change her position as the complex braid crept down her back, finally coming to rest at her waist. Holding it in place with one hand, she stood up and walked over to her jewelry box.

Opening the top drawer, she pulled out two platinum clasps, studded with sapphires. She fastened the smaller one at the bottom of the braid, and the larger one, almost half the size of her head, went at the top. She was sure that her hair wasn’t perfect, but it was close enough for her to be happy with it. She returned to the vanity and spun around, confirming that it at least looked halfway decent.

Satisfied, she sat down and leaned forward as she picked up the gold earrings, gently lancing them into her earlobes. She had had her ears pierced at a very young age, but it was still a disconcerting, penetrative sensation every time she put them on. She quickly spun her head, making sure that they were securely affixed in place.

Next, she wrapped a tight, thin chain around her neck—it was made of silver, and had a rectangular, deeply green emerald hanging from it. All of the jewels she was wearing were small, but the colors they contained were rich and vibrant.

Finally, she bent down and started to slip on her high heels. However, as soon as she slipped her right foot into the shoe, she winced and withdrew it. The blisters from walking through the tunnels were still there, and a faint bruise had formed from when she had kicked the fire extinguisher the night before. She could suffer through the pain, but she didn’t want to subject herself to any more misery than she had to.

Instead, she picked up the heels again and walked back to her closet. She reached out to a shelf and gently knocked a pair of white slip-ons to the floor, which she gently maneuvered her feet into, sighing in relief as the fabric stretched around her aching feet.

She had done all of the preparation that she could do for the ordeal that was to come. Now, she just needed to make sure that Dipper looked his best as well. Hanging next to where her dress had been was a garment bag containing the clothes that she had picked out for him. She grunted as she lifted the bag, the weight of the shoes alone making it quite heavy.

Turning about, she exited her room and closed the door behind her. She had taken more than enough time to get ready, so Dipper should have easily been done with his shower by then. She glanced up at the pipes overhead, making sure that she was going the right way as she began the long trek to McGucket’s workshop, carrying both her silver high heels and Dipper’s garment bag.

She didn’t pass by the main foyer on the way, but she did pass by the kitchen, where the aroma of roasted meat and baking pastries caused her stomach to grumble hungrily. The good thing about the silk georgette her dress was made from was that it could stretch easily.

Soon, she came to a closed door, marking the division between McGucket’s side of the Manor and the Northwest wing. She used her hips to push the door open, slightly crinkling her nose as the aroma shifted. Normally, the Northwest wing smelled like furniture polish, and Pacifica actually preferred the smell of solder and motor oil on McGucket’s side. Now, however, that motor oil was competing against roasting fat, and it just couldn’t win that fight.

McGucket’s portion of the Manor was far larger than the Northwest’s, so Pacifica had much farther to walk yet. Still, it wasn’t an unpleasant walk. Despite the smell, it seemed as though McGucket’s side was actually cleaner than the Northwest wing. This was likely because McGucket cleaned everything himself, while the servants the Northwests hired were more inclined to cut corners.

McGucket had partitioned the building off into several research and development segments. One was dedicated towards computing power, while another was focused on communications technology—this was where McGucket had been working recently, attempting to convert the Manor into a radio telescope.

However, he spent most of his time in the mechanical segment. After he had moved into the Manor, he had consulted the blueprints and torn out a massive segment of the walls and floors in the center of the building. Now, there was a three-story atrium lined with balconies, and supported by steel pillars and a concrete floor. This was where he built his robots and other large and imposing devices—and it was one of Pacifica’s favorite places in the entire Manor, only coming in after her reading nook.

She took a deep breath as she entered the atrium, becoming adjusted to the smell. Her eyes were immediately attracted to the shower of sparks coming from across the room, where McGucket stood on a scaffold welding two metallic panels together on a spherical framework. Dipper, wearing his old clothes, sat beneath him at an empty table, looking away from the sparks. Apparently, he didn’t want to wear welding glasses if he could help it.

Pacifica was at first worried that Dipper hadn’t showered like she’d told him to, but soon saw that his hair was still damp. He had just put his clothes back on, since it was unrealistic to expect him to sit in the middle of the lab with nothing but a towel on. She smiled as she walked over him, taking special care not to step on the nest of raccoons that had settled in beneath one of the metallic worktables.

“What are you working on now, McGucket?” she asked loudly, getting his attention as she stood next to Dipper. Dipper, who had been staring off into the distance, snapped to attention at the sound of her voice.

“Howdy, Pacifica!” said McGucket cheerfully, lifting his welding mask to reveal his gap-toothed grin. Despite his much greater wealth, he looked much the same as he always had—the only expensive thing he had spent his money on, besides the house, had been some beard oil. And it did work wonders—his beard looked softer and more luxurious than ever. Dipper glanced up at her as she set his garment bag down on the worktable. “Lookin’ sharp!”

She watched in smug satisfaction as Dipper’s jaw dropped open. She hadn’t even sent him pictures of the dress beforehand, so seeing it in all of its glory now was a shock. Slowly, she spun around, causing the fabric to flare up slightly around her ankles. Even compared to three years ago at that first Northwest Fest, her ability to coordinate an outfit had improved dramatically.

“Wow…” Dipper mumbled to himself, unable to speak properly. Over the past few years, he had always seen Pacifica in her exploring outfit, suited for climbing through trees and over roots. And while she was always stylish, it didn’t hold a candle to the way she shone now. “How am I going to compete with that?” he asked in faux desperation.

“You’re not going to compete,” said Pacifica, patting the garment bag. “You’re going to complement. It’s not the man’s job to look pretty.”

“Of course not,” said Dipper, smiling at his girlfriend. “You’ve already got that taken care of.” Pacifica blushed, adding a rosy human red to the artificial blush upon her cheeks.

“Naturally,” she winked at him with a grin. “Now, hurry up and go put these on. It won’t be long before the rest of the guests get here, and I want you to look respectable.”

“Am I not respectable already?” Dipper asked as he stood up and picked up the garment bag.

“Respectable in the field, yes,” she said, sitting down where he had just been. “But not at the Annual Northwest Christmas Eve Party.”

“There’s nothing fragile in here, is there?” asked Dipper, beginning to walk to the bathroom.

“They’re just normal clothes, Dipstick,” chided Pacifica to his back. “Surely you know how to put on clothes. Unless Mabel’s been doing that for you.”

“Not since seventh grade!” called back Dipper with a smirk as he vanished into a nearby corridor. Pacifica sincerely hoped that he was joking.

“I hope this shindig is worth it!” chimed McGucket as he clambered down from the scaffolding, setting his welding rods down on a nearby worktable. “I’ve been keeping track of everything your parents had brought in, and there’s got to be at least ten thousand dollars of decorations and food!”

“It’s never worth it,” answered Pacifica, inspecting her cracked nail. It didn’t seem any worse for wear. “Especially for the Christmas Eve Party. The Northwest Fest is at least meant to entertain important people, but this one is just for close friends.” As she talked, McGucket walked over to a sink and began the meticulous process of washing his hands. He may have been a hillbilly, but even he recognized the importance of good hygiene.

“Still, even if you’re being fancy, that’s a lot of money for ten people!” said McGucket, drying his hands and walking up behind Pacifica.

“How do you know how many people are coming?” asked Pacifica, wide-eyed. “Did you plant cameras in the Manor?”

“Nah,” answered McGucket cheerfully as he hopped up onto the table Pacifica sat at. “I was going to ask your daddy if I could use the main entrance for some cooling ducts and saw the place cards on the table.”

“What are you doing?” asked Pacifica, leaning slightly away from McGucket as he extended his hands to touch her braided hair. She looked him up and down confusedly.

“Your hair’s a disaster,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m going to fix the braid.” Pacifica kept a neutral expression, though she was understandably astonished as she leaned backwards and felt McGucket’s hands gently undo the clasps and flair her hair out completely.

“Since when do you know how to braid?” she asked confusedly as her head was gently jerked back and forth, McGucket’s fingers quickly weaving her hair into a braid far more intricate, tight, and ornate than Pacifica had been able to do on her own.

“Well, the quick hands are from welding circuits!” he answered cheerfully as he snapped the clasps back into place. Pacifica quickly spun her head, feeling the braid rest tight against her back. “The braiding is from the wiring for the robots! It makes them happy.”

“I don’t know if the robots have feelings, McGucket,” smiled Pacifica as she ran her hands over the braid. It appeared perfectly put together, without a strand out of place. McGucket hopped off of the table with a shake of his head, going over to his metallic sphere.

“Don’t let them hear you say that!” he chastised as he picked up the next curved panel, climbing the scaffolding to move it into place. “They’ll get angry, and trust me that the last thing you want are angry robots!”

“I’ll be careful,” Pacifica replied, standing up and beginning to walk around the sphere. “But what is this thing? It doesn’t seem like a robot.”

“That’s because it’s not!” answered McGucket. “This is going to be a three-dimensional computer. Should be able to go inside of math problems and programming virtually, and untangle them from the inside!”

“Just math problems, or any problems?” asked Pacifica, looking around the workshop with wonder. Along with the curved metal panels, there were also curved pieces of glass that looked like they would fit within the metallic sphere. A monitor that completely surrounded the user would be very useful for advanced engineering. “I’ve got some questions about my family that I’d need a supercomputer to answer.”

“So do I!” chimed McGucket as he lowered the panel into place. “Like why they put you next to that Samuel fellow instead of Dipper! By all accounts, it doesn’t make sense!”

“They did what,” Pacifica said placidly, her arms hanging limply by her side. It took the form of a question, but her voice was so resigned and flat that it came across as a statement.

“Yup!” said McGucket. “Every time these Southeasts come over; your daddy locks me back into my part of the building. I’ve never seen them myself, but it seems like they put you two closer and closer together every year.”

“Where’s Dipper?” Pacifica asked, already trying to do damage control. There would be no rearranging the seats; Preston wouldn’t stand for it. At best, she could try to keep Dipper from being the victim of too much poking and prodding.

“The bathroom, I think,” McGucket answered, scratching his head.

“Not right now!” Pacifica rolled her eyes. “I mean, where is he going to be sitting at dinner, in relation to me?”

“Well,” began McGucket, rubbing his head as the conjured back up the image of the place cards. He had recovered an astonishing amount of his memory, but it sometimes took time to bring information back up. “Going, clockwise, starting at the head of the table, it goes your daddy, your mama, Sophia Southeast, your mama’s mama, your daddy’s mama, Dipper, Simon Southeast, Samuel Southeast, you, and then Stephen Southeast.”

“Come on McGucket,” Pacifica sighed as she looked around for a piece of paper to draw a diagram, not finding anything. “Could you have made it any more confusing?”

“You asked!” he defended as he chuckled to himself. “To make it simpler, your daddy and Dipper are at the heads of the table, you’re in between Stephen and Samuel, and Dipper’s between Penelope and Simon.”

“Of course he is,” moaned Pacifica. She was located where both her father and mother would be able to keep a close eye on her, and Dipper was sandwiched in between her grandmother, who was known for her colorful opinions, and Samuel’s little brother. Her father had done his best to make the seating arrangement literal hell.

“You’ll be fine,” said McGucket, waving his hand dismissively. “You’re strong. It’s just one dinner, and then you can go off gallivanting through the woods.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” replied Pacifica, grimacing. “I’ve dealt with it before. But Dipper’s going to get eviscerated out there. He doesn’t even know about Sam yet, and he’s already under so much pressure.”

“You ought to tell him then!” chastised McGucket. “Communication is key. Take it from someone who’s son didn’t talk to him for years.” Pacifica nodded, admitting that he was right. Her window was closing. The first guests would be arriving soon, and once that started, it would be too late. Both her parents and Sam’s would waste no time in making their wishes known.

“But what’s this about him being under a lot of stress?” McGucket asked, curious. “Haven’t you two just been relaxing and taking it easy? It is Christmas break, after all.”

“You mean you don’t know?” Pacifica replied, astonished. McGucket shrugged. “I thought for sure that Ford would have called you. The shapeshifter is loose.” Upon hearing the word ‘shapeshifter,’ McGucket immediately sprang up to the top level of the scaffolding.

“H-h-how’d it get out?” he asked, sheltering as best he could. “I thought that thing was frozen!”

“It was,” Pacifica replied. “The earthquake broke the coolant pipes.”

“Bango polish!” McGucket swore to himself. “That… _thing_ tied me up in a closet and turned into me thirty years ago! I’ve had enough of it running around hurting people! What has Ford done to contain it?”

“We’ve instituted blood tests at the Shack, and at this party,” said Dipper, reentering the room. Pacifica’s jaw dropped as she turned to face him, just as his had for her, though McGucket remained petrified. “We’ve also injected it with a neuron poison, but just in case that didn’t finish the job, we’re going to systematically scour the valley with advanced weirdness detection tech until we find it, or it’s remains.”

Dipper was confident as he spoke authoritatively about his passion, making him even more attractive than the clothes alone could.

He wore dark navy pants, pressed to a lint-free shine. From the legs emerged a pair of white and black leather shoes, accompanied by black socks. A light blue button up shirt, the color of a March sky, rested on his chest, the top button undone as a white bow tie lay limp around the collar. A white tuxedo jacket was pulled snugly around his shoulders, tipped with diamond studded cufflinks—Pacifica had wanted him to sparkle a little. The only sign of something being slightly off was the bulge in his left sleeve, where the bandages were wrapped around his arm.

His hair had been combed into place, tamping it down and causing it to lose its natural fluff. He looked visibly uncomfortable as Pacifica approached him, astonished to see his transformation. As rugged as the scars beneath made him look, she couldn’t deny that seeing him cleaned up made him seem more modernly masculine.

“Are you sure that this is right?” he asked as Pacifica gently buttoned his collar and pulled the bow tie taught around his neck. She considered pulling him into a kiss, but didn’t want to ruin her lipstick before the party had started. “It seems like an awful lot of different colors.”

“Trust me,” said Pacifica as she snapped the completed bow tie into place. “They work together. You look handsome. Though, there is one thing that needs to be fixed…” With that, she reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, fluffing it up and causing it to spring out to its natural position. “There,” she smiled. “Now it’s perfect.”

“I’m glad,” said Dipper, smiling as he looked Pacifica up and down. Though she sparkled more than he did, their outfits obviously went together. They looked like winter, cold and stoic—but with a warm fire at the center. “How did you get my sizes so right?”

“I’ve got a natural eye for these things,” she smirked. When he raised one eyebrow with a smirk, she rolled her eyes in response. “Fine,” she continued. “I asked Mabel.”

“How did Mabel know!?” Dipper asked again, shaking his head.

“ _She’s_ got a natural eye for these things,” answered Pacifica, waving her hand. “Either that, or she measured you in your sleep. I don’t know which, but what matters is that the clothes fit.”

“Fair enough,” said Dipper, reaching out to gently take her hand. She gripped back, reassured by the simple physical gesture. “So, when is this shindig supposed to start?”

As soon as he spoke, a crackle echoed through the air. McGucket, Pacifica, Dipper, and the raccoons all looked up at the loudspeaker mounted at the top of the atrium. After the Northwests had rented their wing of the Manor back from McGucket, Preston had insisted on having a PA system installed, so he could conduct rental business with McGucket without having to physically walk into his part of the building.

“Pacifica!” Preston’s voice crackled over the loudspeaker. “Return to the main hall at once. Your grandmothers have arrived.” The speaker died with a static whine.

She and Dipper looked at each other, holding each other by the arms. Dipper looked at her reassuringly as she took a deep breath. This was her last opportunity to tell him about Sam before the night began. She parted her lips to speak.

“Wait!” Dipper bellowed, turning around to look down the main corridor. “Where’s Ford? We need to do the blood tests! We can’t let them in without them!”

“Dipper!” begged Pacifica after him as her boyfriend started to lightly jog back to the Northwest wing of the Manor.

“Sorry Paz!” he called back as he turned a corner. “I’ve got to keep this party shapeshifter free!”

Pacifica looked at him in disbelief, dropping her arms to hang limply by her side as she sat down at the nearest worktable.

“It’ll be okay, Pacifica,” said McGucket, climbing down from atop the scaffolding and jumping to the table with a thud. “Dipper’s smart too. He knows better than make a fool of himself.”

“He won’t have to,” said Pacifica, removing the soft, flexible shoes from her feet. “My family will do it for him.” With a grimace, she forced her right foot into the confines of her silver heels, feeling the rough scrape of the material against the bruises and blisters on her skin.


	20. Reception

Pacifica winced as she stepped into the main foyer. Even the walk from McGucket’s lab to the location of the Christmas Eve party had been murder on her feet. With any luck, she would be able to spend most of the evening sitting down.

“Boy, what exactly are you doing!?” chastised Preston, who stood next to Dipper at the door. He had changed from his house clothes into his dinner suit—a full black tuxedo, complete with vest and bow tie. His mustache was immaculate, having just been oiled. Beyond the men, standing in the snow, were two old ladies who had scarves wrapped around their heads.

“Yes,” said the one on the right, glancing him up and down. “Surely you wouldn’t leave your host’s mother standing out in the freezing cold? Not even your kind would be so uncouth. I thought your hospitality was supposed to be… charming.”

Penelope Northwest was Preston’s mother, and looked it. She didn’t have a mustache, but the intensity around eyes clearly showed her heritage. She wore a long fur coat that Pacifica was certain hadn’t been ethically harvested, and had her gray hair piled up on top of her head in an intricate bun that it was impossible for her to have done herself.

After her husband, and Pacifica’s grandfather, Auldman Northwest, had died eight years back, she had moved out of the Manor and headed for Florida. She resided in a retirement community for the absurdly wealthy known as Del Lengua Vista, where the large, ranch style mansions surrounded a tiny portion of the Everglades, and were connected by covered walkways. There was also an on-site helipad—whenever a hurricane came through, all of the residents were evacuated inland, with priority determined by wealth.

Pacifica had only been to Del Lengua Vista once, and hadn’t enjoyed it at all. She wasn’t fond of Florida in general, finding the beaches overcrowded and the people crass. She much preferred the emptier, natural beaches of Oregon, or the quiet stretches of sand at Edisto Island in South Carolina. She had spent the entire visit looking out over the Everglades, pitying the obese alligators who were starting to lose scales because they had been overfed by the residents.

The woman standing next to Penelope, however, was far nicer. Phoebe Magnuson was Pacifica’s maternal grandmother, and also lived in Florida—coincidentally, in Del Boca Vista, a lower-class development that surrounded Del Lengua Vista. As far as Pacifica knew, the two never visited each other, despite the fact that their children were married.

Pacifica has never known her maternal grandfather, Daniel Magnuson, who had died before she was born—supposedly perishing in a storm at sea after attempting to set his entire house onto a boat. Pacifica had doubts about that story.

Phoebe, however, she knew well—when Pacifica was young, they would often sneak away at these parties and she would tell the young girl stories about old Scandinavia. Pacifica had learned from this that Phoebe didn’t approve of Priscilla’s choice to offer herself up as the prize in a yachting competition, leading to some tension between the two.

“Come on Penelope,” chided Phoebe, rolling her eyes. “You see snow once a year, and it’s always so hot in Florida. You could stand to cool off a little bit.” Penelope shot her companion a fierce look, but Phoebe appeared unfazed. She had grown more confident and self-assured in her old age.

“I’m sorry,” said Dipper, standing his ground. “I can’t let you in yet. There’s a quick sample we need to take beforehand. I’m sure that the scientist will be here shortly.”

“Listen,” said Preston sternly. “I’ve tolerated you, and your affiliations with my daughter.” He placed his hand on Dipper’s shoulder and pushed him aside. Dipper started to raise his hands to push back, but immediately thought better of it. His confident and defiant expression was instantly replaced by meek resignation. “But, I would advise you not to insult my mother. Is that clear?”

“Yes sir,” Dipper fumbled his words out. Pacifica wilted, hating to see him looking so defeated. She knew that he was doing what needed to be done, but also knew that standing up to Preston would immediately antagonize him, causing his girlfriend’s father to hate their relationship even more. Pacifica decided to intervene before the situation could deteriorate any further.

“Nana!” she said, walking down the stairs, being careful not to let her heels trip her up, or to jangle the silver bells that hung from the railing. “It’s been so long!” She saw Dipper’s expression change to shock as he covered his eyes, miming the welding goggles. If one of the two ladies was the shapeshifter, they would have a perfect view of her eyes.

“Pacifica!” said Phoebe, pushing through and into the main foyer. Pacifica saw Dipper’s pained expression, but was confident that these were her real grandparents. She would keep them in the foyer until they were tested, just to be sure. “You look gorgeous!”

“Thanks, Nana,” she said, hugging her grandmother. “It’s the first time I’ve worn this dress. It’s straight from Paris!”

“Ooh-la-la,” she said, chuckling to herself. The Magnuson family had been wealthy, but not nearly as well-off as the Northwests. This was why Phoebe lived in the less fancy retirement community, and it also made her able to laugh at the pretentions that their family often adhered to.

“Are these real diamonds?” asked Penelope, stepping inside and touching Pacifica’s waist, feeling the glimmering studs woven throughout the fabric. Pacifica tried to keep her breathing steady—she didn’t like that Penelope felt entitled to touch her whenever she liked, but put up with her grandmother’s transgressions. She only rarely saw her, and it wouldn’t do any good to infuriate the elderly.

“Good to see you too, Granny,” said Pacifica, using all of her willpower to keep from rolling her eyes. “I’m afraid they’re not natural. The dress was expensive enough as it is, and even the artificial ones sparkle.”

“I hope the Southwests think the same,” replied Penelope, finally removing her hand from Pacifica’s abdomen. “You know, I recently heard that they’ve invested in a diamond mine in South Africa. Apparently, they’ve started to turn up some interesting minerals there.”

“I’m glad,” said Pacifica, trying to keep her expression neutral. “It’s always good to see people succeed.”

“I’m sure Sam could fix you up with some real ones if you asked politely,” Penelope continued. “He’s always been so nice to you.”

“Nice, yes,” said Pacifica. “He’s a good guy.” She tried to praise him, while keeping her words strictly platonic.

“Very good,” whispered Penelope. “In more ways than one.” Pacifica crinkled her nose, disgusted at the old lady commenting on seventeen year old Sam’s physical attractiveness.

Pacifica looked up at Dipper, seeing a confused expression on his face. She had missed her window. He had anticipated there being just Northwests, not business partners and friends as well. He looked around uncertainly, eyes searching for Mabel—she was the one he turned to in times like this, and he was adrift without her.

Pacifica took a step in his direction to comfort him, but paused when she heard a knock at the door. She and Dipper both froze, but Preston immediately walked over to the door and opened it. A second before his hand grasped the knob, Pacifica turned around and covered her eyes, keeping her face invisible—just in case.

“Ah, Mr. Northwest,” Ford’s breathless voice boomed throughout the foyer. “I apologize for being late. There was a family emergency last night, and it took longer than I anticipated to resolve the issue.”

“Stanford Pines,” replied Preston, extending his hand and taking Ford’s six-fingered hand in his. “It’s good to see you. I hope that your family is doing well.”

“We’re recovering,” said Ford, beginning to step inside before Dipper stepped up and stopped him.

“Wait a second,” said Dipper, extending a hand. “You need to do the test on yourself too, before we let you in.”

“You’re absolutely right,” answered Ford, reaching into his jacket while he pulled off his left glove with his teeth. “It had slipped my mind. We must verify everyone.”

From the recesses of his jacket, he produced a small plastic case full of single-use needles. Drawing one out, he gingerly pricked his third finger and squeezed out a small drop of crimson blood. Satisfied, Dipper lowered his hand and allowed Ford to enter. Ford stomped the snow off of his boots before stepping inside, wiping the red droplet off on the hem of his trench coat.

“What kind of test did you say this was, again?” asked Preston confusedly. “You told me that it was DNA harvesting for cloning purposes. So we could have extra organs if we ever need them replaced. Seems awfully unsanitary to just wipe blood on your coat.”

“My apologies,” said Ford, pulling his glove back on before reaching into another pocket and producing a set of test tubes. “I already have a sample of my blood on file back at the lab. These sanitary vials are for you.”

“Tremendous,” said Preston, extending a finger. “I don’t want my DNA contaminated with whatever dangerous chemicals you’ve got floating around.”

“Tetrodotoxins, anti-acidic coating, alien adhesive… I’ve got a lot of chemicals,” replied Ford, chuckling as he pricked Preston’s finger with a clean needle. Dipper, Ford, and Pacifica all watched with bated breath as a crimson drop emerged, and dropped into the waiting vial. “I assure you,” Ford continued, sealing the vial, “that your biological data will be secure.”

“Mother, Phoebe!” called Preston from across the room. “Come and let this man take a sample of your blood.”

“Why on earth would I do that?” asked Penelope, appalled. “Seems awfully dangerous.”

“Sounds fun,” said Phoebe, bouncing up to Ford and offering a wrinkled finger. Taking her hand gingerly in his, Ford lightly pricked her, causing a small dribble of blood to emerge. She was clean.

“Did you not hear him?” asked Preston to his mother, rolling his eyes. “He has the technology to grow us new bodies and organs. A blood sample seems a small price to pay for immortality.”

At the mention of the word ‘immortality,’ Penelope perked up and immediately offered her finger to him. As he took the sample, Phoebe continued talking.

“So,” Phoebe asked, standing next to Ford. “When are you going to call me with my results?”

“There aren’t any results,” chuckled Ford. “I’ll contact Preston whenever the samples are ready to be grown into biological tissue.” Pacifica rolled her eyes—Ford had no intention of doing any such thing, but he was quite convincing when he committed to the bit.

“Well, it doesn’t even have to be results,” Phoebe continued. “You can call me any time.” Pacifica slightly gagged as Ford froze for a moment, causing Penelope to whelp in pain as he squeezed her finger harder than was necessary as he collected the blood—she too was clean.

“Y-yes, well…” stammered Ford as he stood up and walked over to Dipper. “I have much work to do here. But if I ever find a free moment, I’ll make sure to.” He bent over as Dipper offered a finger—Ford quickly pricked it and let Dipper wipe the blood off on his jacket, keeping his suit clean while guaranteeing that Dipper was in fact still Dipper.

Pacifica offered a finger as Ford advanced over to her. She knew that she was still clean, but it was important that Dipper know that as well. She winced as she felt the lancing sensation in her finger, but it soon dissipated. Like Dipper, Ford let her wipe the blood off on his jacket.

“Pacifica,” whispered Ford. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but was your grandmother… hitting on me? That’s what it’s called, right?”

“Yeah,” Pacifica snickered. “And you shouldn’t have told her that you’d call. She’ll be waiting for it now.”

“Fantastic,” said Ford, voice going back to normal. Pacifica wasn’t sure if he was being sincere or not—as gross as it was to think about, he did have a boat. It wouldn’t be unreasonable for Ford and Stan to pay a visit to Florida, though Pacifica could think of a million other places she would rather have gone.

Thankfully, Pacifica had more important things to worry about, which took her mind off the horrifying realities of the elderly’s love lives. Dipper walked over to her, holding his finger to keep it from dripping blood.

“Priscilla!” Preston called back into the bowels of the Manor. “That scientist man is here to take those blood samples!”

“Coming!” called Pacifica’s mother, emerging at the top of the staircase in her full party attire. Her dress wasn’t nearly as colorful or as sparkly as Pacifica’s—it was mostly black, with white accents around the skirt, though the fabric did shine in the light of the chandeliers. It went all the way to floor, but had no straps around the shoulders—making it seem, somehow, less modest. She had paid a visit to her hairdresser the day before, getting the graying roots touched up and styled.

As she made her way down the staircase, she kept a firm grip on the handrail, causing the bells to jingle at every post she passed. Pacifica closed her eyes and breathed steadily. She was becoming better at controlling her reaction to it, but it was still viscerally unpleasant.

Ford sniffed the air as Priscilla approached and offered her left hand. He gingerly took her wrist, making sure to keep his hands clear of the large, gemstone-studded bracelet that she wore. She hiccupped once as he pricked her finger, a single drop of blood dripping into a waiting vial. Every guest at the party, so far, was clean.

“Excellent,” said Ford as he slipped the final vial back into his coat. Preston obviously didn’t know much about how biological testing worked, since keeping the blood unrefrigerated would almost immediately render it impotent. “Dipper, Pacifica,” he continued, beckoning them over and away from everyone else. Preston, Priscilla, and Penelope almost immediately settled into conversation, though Phoebe followed Ford with her eyes for a moment longer before joining the group.

“How is everyone?” asked Dipper immediately, once they were away from the other Northwests.

“We’re all fine,” answered Ford, holding up a hand to reassure him. “We all stayed the night at the hospital, but came back early this afternoon. Stan’s awake, and wants to move around—we had to promise him a cooler full of Pitt and an endless supply of Cheese Boodles to get him to just sit in his chair and rest.”

“That sounds like Stan,” laughed Pacifica. “What about Waddles?”

“Waddles is still pretty out of it,” replied Ford with a grimace. “His breathing is easier, but he hasn’t woken up yet. Though, in my unprofessional medical opinion, that has less to do with his injury and more to do with Dr. Louis giving a pig morphine.”

“Mabel insisted,” shrugged Dipper. “What, was he _not_ going to drug the pig?”

“Oh no,” smiled Ford. “I’d definitely have drugged the pig. You can’t argue with Mabel when she’s like that. Her authority is actually astonishing.” Pacifica felt a pleased smile teasing at the corner of her lips.

“What about the shapeshifter situation?” continued Dipper. “It seemed like Wendy and Soos had things pretty much under control when we left.”

“The Shack is secure,” Ford answered. “Also, you should have told us that the real Wendy had arrived. I almost had a heart attack when I saw her. Even with Soos vouching for her, I made her do the blood test again.”

“Yeah…” Dipper mumbled. “That’s my bad. Should have thought of that.”

“It’s fine,” said Ford, placing a hand on his shoulder. “With any luck, we shouldn’t have to worry about this ever again before too long. The shapeshifter hasn’t shown up yet, but I’m still fairly certain that he’s running around the woods somewhere.”

“Have you started recalibrating the weirdness equipment yet?” asked Dipper, planning ahead for their eventual hunting mission into the valley.

“I will this evening,” said Ford, running over the list of things that he still had to do in his mind. “I’ve been busy with Stan, Waddles, and the Shack today. And I still have to test the rest of the staffers here.”

“My dad won’t like that,” said Pacifica, shaking her head. “It’ll make it seem like your cloning thing is for everyone, and not just for the rich.”

“Don’t worry,” Ford answered, a gleam in his eye. “He won’t even know that I’m back there. I’ll go outside and then sneak back in from McGucket’s side. I ought to pay my old colleague a visit anyway.”

“He’s pretty worried about the shapeshifter too,” Pacifica replied, thinking back to how he had run and hid at the mere mention of the creature’s name.

“It put him through a lot back in the day,” nodded Ford gravely. “I can head over there right now, unless you’re expecting any more guests.”

“We are,” said Dipper, looking at Pacifica sternly. “The Southeasts, apparently, who I have never heard of before today.”

“The Southeasts?” asked Ford, his ears perking up. “I remember that name. They come from old money, don’t they?”

“Very old,” grumbled Pacifica, thinking back to how their entire base of wealth had been built on the legacy of plantations before the Civil War.

“Why didn’t you tell me about them, though?” Dipper questioned Pacifica. After seeing how Penelope had whispered into Pacifica’s ear, he had more than a sneaking suspicion that things could be on the verge of going horribly wrong.

“I meant to!” defended Pacifica, even knowing that there was no good reason she hadn’t. She had had plenty of opportunities, but every time, she had delayed, her nerves getting the best of her. “I was going to tell you in the spaceship, but then everything went to crap, and I didn’t want to make you any more nervous than you already were, and then we found out that the shapeshifter was loose, and then Wendy who wasn’t Wendy showed up, and then you got hurt, and then we had to go to the hospital, and then there was Wendy who was Wendy—”

She was cut off by Dipper, who gently stepped forward to hug her. She instinctively held herself slightly away, not wanting to ruin the crisp pressed lines of his suit.

“It’s okay,” said Dipper, trying to strike a balance between what it was appropriate to do in front of her family and what wasn’t. “We’ve all been a little fried. I think I’ll be able to handle them, so long as there’s not a pretty girl who will steal me away from you.”

Dipper smirked with a chuckle as he spoke, knowing that there was nothing that could budge him from Pacifica. He was sure of himself, because he knew himself from the inside—but he did not know Pacifica.

“You’ll both be fine,” said Ford, clasping them both on the shoulders. “It’s one little dinner, and then it’s back to monster hunting and weirdness research. We just have to make sure that nothing too dangerous walks through that door.”

Almost prophetically, it was at that moment that a knock resounded through the foyer. Pacifica felt a pit rapidly forming in her stomach as she knew who stood beyond it. Ford would only be able to check for the danger posed by the shapeshifter—not by the Southeasts themselves.

“Ah, Stephen,” said Preston as he opened the front door, letting a cold blast of air into the manor. “It is so good to see you, my friend,” he continued as he extended his hand, ushering the four members of the Southeast family into the foyer of the Northwest Manor.

Pacifica had seen them all before, so she focused on Dipper. His eyes darted around them as he drank in every detail that he possibly could.

Stephen Southeast, the family patriarch, had a much less impressive mustache than Preston, despite being a few years older. He wore a completely white tuxedo, along with a normal tie. There were golden accents on the cuffs and pockets, accompanying his rapidly thinning blonde hair. He wore a small pair of round glasses, and had a large stomach overhanging his belt.

Sophia Southeast, his wife, had been the one to marry into the family. Her dress was off-white, and only came down to her knees. Her necklace, earrings, and bracelets were made up of mounted rubies. Her hair was blonde as well, though it wasn’t nearly as long and luxurious as Pacifica’s. Instead, it was cut short, into a sharp bob that barely hung past her chin. Despite the large amounts of makeup that she clearly wore, Pacifica could see crow’s feet and other wrinkles beginning to eat their way into her skin.

The youngest of the family was eight year old Simon, who immediately broke away from his mother and started to run around the room, drinking in the decorations. He didn’t say anything, but the pitter-patter of his hard-heeled shoes made it easy to tell where he was. He was also dressed in all white, though he only had the tuxedo vest, and no jacket. His hair was so pale it was practically white, though it would likely darken upon exposure to the sun.

These were all people Pacifica didn’t care about. Or rather, wasn’t worried about. She tried to read Dipper’s eyes as the last member of the Southeast family entered, but could determine nothing. She turned to look at Samuel instead.

Sam had his hands nonchalantly in his pockets as he entered the room, looking around casually. He wore white pants and a white jacket, but that was the only wardrobe similarity to his family. He wore light brown leather shoes, which had been broken into supple softness through use. Around his wrist was a dark band of twisted cord, like something he had found on the beach. The collar of his light blue shirt was unbuttoned, revealing more of the caramel tan that covered his skin. His dirty blonde hair, falling off the side of his head in a shocking wave, was accompanied by green eyes that looked at her from a few inches higher than Dipper’s.

“Pacifica!” he said, cheerfully as he walked over to her. “It seems like it’s been forever since the summer party.”

“Sam!” she said, trying to match his enthusiasm levels. She knew Sam was better than his parents, but it would be best to treat him cautiously for now, just in case he had suddenly changed his mind about being interested in her. “I’m sorry you had to come up here during the snowstorm.” Almost by instinct, she leaned forward and kissed Sam on the cheek, as he did the same to her—just as she had been taught by her French teacher in private school.

“I don’t mind the snow,” he said charmingly, waving his hand dismissively. “I spend so long in those hot and humid Carolina summers that it’s nice to see something naturally cold every once in a while.”

“A-and this is my boyfriend, Dipper Pines,” Pacifica offered, trying her best to restore Dipper’s confidence. She couldn’t turn to see his face, but imagined that he was trying to keep his emotions under control. The snide expression on Preston’s face seemed to confirm her suspicions.

“Ah, Dipper,” said Sam, extending a hand for Dipper to shake it. Pacifica stepped back as Dipper accepted the handshake, looking into Sam’s eyes. Dipper stood a few inches shorter than Sam, even with the heels on his shoes. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Pacifica.”

“All good things, I hope,” he said, trying to be disarming. His throat was dry, making the words come out weakly.

“Oh, more or less,” laughed Sam. “She says that you drag her through the woods from time to time.”

“She drags me more often,” said Dipper, swallowing. “She’s been my lifeline several times.”

“Pacifica is good at that,” chuckled Sam. “I remember back when we were kids…” As he broke from the handshake, he subtly wiped his hand on his pants, cleaning away the sweat from Dipper’s clammy palm.

“I’m sure Dipper doesn’t want to hear about those old stories,” said Pacifica, trying to steer them away from conversation. She wanted them all to talk, but they couldn’t do it in front of their parents, where the adults could spy and butt in at any moment. She looked around for something to distract everyone, and found her salvation in Ford, who stood awkwardly off to the side, running his fingers across a new case of sterile needles.

“Dr. Ford!” she cried, causing him to snap to attention. No one had called him a doctor, and especially not with his first name, in quite a long time. “Would you like to offer the Southeasts the chance to participate in your program?”

“Uh, yes!” Ford said, drawing out his needles and stepping forwards to the group of adults. “Mr. and Mrs. Southeast, my name is Dr. Stanford Pines, and I recently approached Mr. Northwest with a unique opportunity.

“I’m developing an advanced cloning technology that allows us to grow organs and new bodies from a little snippet of the DNA found in your red blood cells. All I need is a blood sample, and you’d have unlimited access to biological material for future medical procedures and possible cloning.”

“And how much does this cost?” said Stephen, looking Ford up and down skeptically.

“Nothing right now,” Ford replied. “Me taking the sample is free. It’s only once you want an organ or a body that I charge.”

“Clever,” said Stephen, nodding his approval. “Reel me in, and then extort me when I’m in desperate need of a liver.” His face was stoic, but soon broke into a smile as his rumbling laugh echoed throughout the space. “You’ve got shrewd business sense, and I appreciate that. Sure, why not—I’m certain Preston will fill me in on the details later.”

With that, both he and Sophia extended their fingers, which Ford pricked easily, taking a few drops each into two vials. All that remained to be tested were Sam and Simon.

“Simon!” Sophia snapped at him, causing the young boy to rush back to his mother’s side. “Let this man take some of your blood.”

“No,” Simon said, flatly, immediately tucking his hands behind his back. Like many kids, he was frightened of both doctors and needles.

“Let him do it,” said Sophia, reaching behind her son’s back and grabbing his wrist, starting to twist his arm out in front of him. Pacifica could see tears starting to well into his eyes—but, Sophia started clicking her tongue, and Simon’s eyes instantly dried. He was still visibly uncomfortable, and kept his arm behind his back, but he was no longer about to burst into tears.

“Please, Mrs. Southeast,” said Ford, kneeling down to Simon’s height. “Allow me.” Sophia let go of her son’s arm and stepped back, shrugging.

“Simon,” began Ford, gently setting the case of needles on the floor next to him. “Do you know what a clone is?”

“Like the sheep?” replied Simon cautiously, making sure that Ford wasn’t secretly holding a needle and preparing to stab him.

“Yes, Dolly the sheep was the first clone!” praised Ford, causing a smile to spread across Simon’s face. “Well, if you let me do this, then we can make clones of you!”

“Why?” asked Simon, asking a legitimate question.

“So, if something bad happens to you, like you scrape your knee, you can immediately fix it. Plus, once you get older, you could have an army of clones to do whatever you want!” Pacifica smiled. She didn’t like that Ford was lying to such a small child, but she recognized the necessity of it.

"That does sound cool,” Simon said, tentatively rubbing his hands together behind his back.

“It’d be so cool!” replied Ford, grinning broadly. “Can I take that sample now? I promise it will only sting for about two minutes.”

“Uhhhh….” began Simon, considering his options. He still wasn’t convinced, but he felt his mother’s grip tighten on his shoulder. “Sure,” he said, cautiously extending his hand.

“Alright, now close your eyes,” began Ford, waiting until the boy’s eyes were squeezed tight before reaching for the needle. As smoothly and as quickly as he possibly could, he lanced the boy’s ring finger and took a single drop of blood. Pacifica would have been shocked if the shapeshifter had chosen to become such a small boy, but it was beneficial to be sure.

“There,” said Ford, sealing the vial as he pulled a tiny scrap of gauze out from within his jacket and held it against Simon’s finger. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Simon nodded his head enthusiastically.

“So when do I get my clone army?” he asked, eagerly.

“It’ll be a little bit,” said Ford, groaning as he stood back up. “It takes a while to grow them. I’ll call you.” Simon’s face fell, but he soon forgot about the entire incident and returned to running around the room.

“Now,” continued Ford, walking over to the trio of Dipper, Pacifica, and Sam. “I believe that you’re the only person who I have left to test.”

“I believe that you would be right,” said Sam, extending a finger. “Though, if you ask me, your entire sales pitch is a load of crap.”

Ford paused, looking at Sam with a skeptical eye. He drew out a fresh needle and stabbed him in the finger, breathing a sigh of relief when a single red droplet emerged. He quickly scooped it up into a vial and tucked it into his jacket. Every member of the Southeast family was clean.

“What makes you say that?” asked Ford, standing tall in front of Sam. Dipper was still a bit shorter than Ford, but Sam was able to look him directly in the eye.

“Red blood cells don’t have DNA in them,” Sam said, looking at Ford with squinted eyes. “You’d need to go into the bone marrow itself for cloning to work. You could possibly do it from white blood cells, but there aren’t enough of those in a single drop to get a reliably complete sample to work from. Extracting DNA is a messy process, and you need enough to cover your mistakes if you don’t want to end up with a mutant.”

Ford looked at Sam cautiously, his mouth in a stern line, before it quickly broke into a toothy smile.

“Alright,” Ford whispered, “you caught me. You’re a smart one, aren’t you? This is for something else, which I’m sure Pacifica and my great-nephew would be more than happy to tell you about in private. As for now, I have other work I must attend to.” He clasped Sam on the shoulder cheerfully before making his way over to Dipper and Pacifica.

“You two enjoy the party,” he said, smiling. “I’m going to go over to McGucket’s wing and test the staff now. If you don’t hear from me, assume that everyone here is safe.” Dipper and Pacifica nodded in understanding as Ford turned and headed for the door.

“Oh, and Dipper?” he said, turning back around and whispering. “If you could, tell Sam a little bit about the kind of work we’re doing. If he’s as sharp and as interested as he seems, he could be a valuable resource once the interest on my old grant money runs out.”

With a final pat on Dipper’s back, Ford turned and strode out of the front door, closing it behind him and sealing Dipper in with the Northwests and the Southeasts. His only friend was Pacifica.

“He’s your great-uncle?” asked Sam, cocking an eyebrow. “You must have an interesting family history.”

“Interesting is one word for it,” acknowledged Dipper, shrugging. “We visit during the summer and winter breaks. It’s a fun time.”

“It sounds like it,” said Sam, shaking his head. “I wish I could get out here into nature more often. Whenever the Charleston Preparatory Academy lets out, it seems like my dad wants me to help him with business in New York or Tokyo.”

“Since when have you been to Japan?” asked Pacifica, grinning. “I thought your dad was against anything made outside of the USA.”

“Oh, he is,” smiled Sam, his pearly teeth shining through pale pink lips. “But when he saw how much cheaper they could make things, he figured that some investments over there would be worthwhile.”

“I wish I could go to Japan,” sighed Pacifica. “Maybe once I graduate high school. That could be a fun trip.”

“We’ve purchased a little house next to a private _onsen_ ,” Sam replied, sticking his hands back into his pockets. “It’s kind of far away from the major cities, but it’s close to the train lines and a decent sized airport. The tea there is magical.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful,” Pacifica smiled, already imagining it.

“It is,” said Sam. “My dad technically owns it, but I’m sure he’d be glad to loan me the keys for a weekend. And then I could loan them to you, and you could do whatever you like.”

Pacifica, who was standing next to Dipper, could see the rush of blood to his face rise and fall chaotically. The implication that Sam would be sharing a private house with her had made him furious, but Sam had immediately rolled into just offering her the house—hypothetically, she could bring Dipper with her. Dipper had no idea what to make of him, or his carefree manner and unusual generosity.

“Sam, Pacifica!” called Preston from across the room. “I believe that we’re about to begin with dinner if you would like to come join us at the table.” He hadn’t even mentioned Dipper.

Sam led the way to the table, Dipper and Pacifica following behind him as a line of vested waitstaff emerged from the bowels of the house, pulling the chairs away from the table and ushering the guests to their proper places.

Dipper, only now seeing where he was sitting—away from Pacifica, and directly across from Preston—felt his chest tighten. He reached out for Pacifica’s hand, who gave it a reassuring squeeze before they were forced to separate as they headed for their individual seats. The felt tips on the chair legs rendered them silent as they slid across the floor.

Now seated at the table, Dipper took a moment to assess his situation. To his left was eight year old Simon, who was sitting as primly and properly as an eight year old could be expected to. To his right was Penelope, Preston’s mother. Directly across from him sat Preston, who he could already tell was sending sharp glances his way. On the left side of the table, Pacifica sat between Stephen and Sam, while the ladies were on the right.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” began the maître d’ as he emerged from the kitchen, leading a contingent of aproned staff members bearing covered trays of food. Dipper noted, gladly, that each of them appeared to have a small bandage wrapped around at least one finger—since Ford hadn’t run screaming out of the back, everyone must have been clean. “We have a lovely menu for you tonight. We will begin with a selection of small seafood appetizers, including oysters, lobster fritters, and beluga caviar. The main course will consist of thinly sliced Kobe steak, grilled to perfection and paired with a base of creamy _su filindeu_ pasta, freshly flown in this morning. For dessert, we have individually portioned ramekins of Scottish cranachan, accompanied by Swiss chocolate and gold foil.”

“Tremendous!” said Stephen, gently patting his own stomach. “This all sounds marvelous.”

“Do you have an alternative for the main course?” asked Sophia, her voice stern. “I’m a vegan.”

“Yes, of course ma’am,” the maître d’ continued. “I was informed of your dietary restrictions. Instead of beef, the pasta will be served with a selection of truffles and other mushrooms, sautéed in échiré butter with Iranian saffron.” A look of pleasure spread over Sophia’s face, while a look of confusion settled over Dipper’s—butter wasn’t vegan. He didn’t think that Sophia really knew what being a vegan meant.

“And,” the maître d’ announced as platters of light seafood were set onto the table. “Allow me to also offer you a selection of wines and champagnes, specifically chosen for the menu.” As the first wave of waiters stepped away, another one approached, uncorking several old and dusty bottles and pouring a deep red liquid into the glasses of all the adults. The catering company, already familiar with the beverage preferences of most of the guests, poured a dandelion champagne into the glasses of Sam and Pacifica, while sparkling water was served to young Simon.

“What would you like, young sir?” asked the waiter standing next to Dipper. Dipper jumped, having been so transfixed by the complex choreography of what was happening that he had failed to notice the waiter next to him.

“No wine, thank you,” Dipper replied shakily, waving away the bottle. He could feel Preston’s eyes narrow; Dipper having passed the first obstacle set in his way.

“Sparkling water, then?” continued the waiter. “It complements the texture of the seafood most marvelously.”

“No thanks,” continued Dipper, none too fond of the fizziness. “I’ll just take a regular water, thank you.” The waiter looked at him in disbelief, but soon complied, producing a carafe of filtered water and filling his glass. Dipper, still tired from everything that had happened yesterday, would have been partial to the caffeine of a Pitt cola, but knew that having an aluminum can on the table wouldn’t reflect well on him.

With the beverages served, the waiters retreated into the darkness of the manor’s hallways, with only one remaining in the room to observe the party’s progression through the meal. Dipper looked at the table in front of him hungrily, eager to dive in, but held himself back as Preston stood up, dominating the gathering.

"I would like to thank you all for coming tonight,” said Preston as he lifted his wine, the pale lights from the chandelier and Christmas tree twinkling off the glasses and silverware. Dipper glanced between the many forks and spoons, unsure of which utensil was supposed to be used for which dish.

“The Annual Northwest Christmas Eve Party has been a staple of our family’s relations for years,” he continued. “And it gives me nothing but the _utmost pleasure_ to introduce you all to my daughter’s _friend,_ Dipper Pines. With that, he gestured at the far end of the table, causing Dipper to shrink as he felt all eyes at the table turn to him.

Preston paused—Dipper, unsure of whether or not he was supposed to speak, started to stand up. As soon as he was halfway up, however, Preston continued, cutting Dipper off and forcing him to sit back down passively. Pacifica cast him a pitying look. Dipper hoped that the amount of blood rushing to his face wouldn’t turn him red enough to ruin Pacifica’s carefully chosen cool color scheme.

“Despite the downturns in the manufacturing sector,” Preston annoucned, “the umbrella of Northwest enterprises has posted remarkable gains this year, in no small part due to the continual support and shrewd advice of the Southeast family. May I offer my sincerest thanks, and my fondest hopes for our continued friendship in the future!”

With that, he raised his glass of wine and offered a toast to the table.

“Hear hear!” bellowed Stephen, clinking his glass with Preston before taking a hearty sip. Pacifica and Sam tapped their glasses together before drinking, Pacifica leaving a pale imprint of her lipstick behind on the rim.

Dipper looked to his right, only to find Penelope looking away from him. To his right, eight year old Simon had his glass of sparkling water extended in anticipation. Dipper, holding his water, snorted in disbelief as he clinked his glass of water and took a sip. Even though everyone sat at the same table, he was clearly at the kid’s end of it.

“Now it’s my turn!” Stephen said, struggling as he attempted to stand up. “I have some announcements to make as well.

“Firstly, Southeast Investments has been making money hand over fist! The tax breaks the government introduced this annum proved very lucrative for us.

“But, more importantly, I would like inform you all that Samuel, my firstborn, has been accepted to Stanford University in Palo Alto for his undergraduate studies!” Sam leaned back in his chair smugly, as Pacifica turned to face him with an expression of astonishment.

“Fantastic!” replied Preston, starting a round of applause that echoed throughout the room. Dipper, not realizing what was happening until it was too late, was only able to clap halfheartedly before everyone grew quiet again. “That’s relatively close by, so I’m certain that he’ll be able to come up and visit as much as he likes! What made you choose Stanford, Sam?”

“Well, I got accepted, for one!” began Sam cheerfully, everyone laughing in response. “But, in all seriousness, it’s been the birthplace of many powerful tech companies, and if I want to understand the stock market of the future, that’s where I need to go. Plus, the Beach Boys tell me that there’s nothing like California girls!”

“Oregon girls aren’t bad either,” croaked Penelope, casting a vicious glance at Dipper. Dipper opened his mouth to rebut her, but was steamrolled by the momentum of Preston’s presentation.

“I’d say that deserves another toast!” cheered Preston, pausing as everyone clinked their glasses again. Resigned, Dipper didn’t even look at Simon as he extended his glass. Everyone around the table, excepting Sam and Pacifica, took lengthy sips, already necessitating refills.

“It’s always good to see young people succeed,” Preston continued. “Why, Dipper has appeared in our local Gravity Falls Gossiper many times for his exploits!”

“And what exploits have those been?” asked Phoebe, leaning forward to look at Dipper. She asked the question not out of mean-spiritedness, but rather from genuine curiosity. Dipper shrank as, once again, he felt all eyes turn to him.

“Monster hunting,” Dipper answered, coughing once to clear his throat. “There have been several unexplained phenomena in the local woods that I’ve tracked down. Large vampire bats, and the like.”

“And exactly how much money have you made doing this?” Penelope asked pointedly. She was a blood Northwest herself, and had an almost eugenic interest in protecting the family lineage.

“None,” replied Dipper timidly, before continuing with more enthusiasm. “I have done it from the good of my heart, to help the townsfolk.”

“Well, good intentions don’t purchase diamond cufflinks,” chuckled Sophia, referring to the sparkling studs on the sleeves of Dipper’s borrowed jacket.

“Yes, I’m very intrigued by those,” Penelope continued. “I would be interested in purchasing a pair of those stones to have adapted into earrings. What brand are they?” The wrinkles on her face belied a wicked expression as she asked Dipper a question to which she knew he didn’t have the answer.

“Uhhh…” he stammered, unsure of how to answer. “I’m not really sure,” he said finally, his voice trailing off.

“They’re Harry Winston,” said Sam from the other side of the table, taking another sip from his champagne. “I recognize the cut. They’re a good source of high quality gems. Of course, the increased quality of artificial diamonds is driving prices down, so they’re not an investment I’d recommend.”

“Thanks,” replied Dipper, self-consciously touching the stones. Pacifica had just given them to him, but he knew nothing about the gems, the settings, or anything.

He felt the comments of Penelope and Sam cut him to the core. Pacifica could give him gifts and clothes to make him look like he belonged, but he didn’t. He didn’t know enough to even pretend like he deserved to be among these people. He may have sparkled on the outside, but on the inside, he was the same Pines as always.

Pacifica glanced around the table, seeing smug grins on the faces of almost all of the adults. They didn’t have to cause an explosion between her and Dipper tonight to achieve their goal—all they wanted to do was plant the seeds of doubt in his head, which they knew would grow if left untrimmed. She had to rescue him.

“Come on, everyone,” she said, drawing the attention away from Dipper and back to herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him perk up slightly. “Let’s go ahead and eat before the food spoils. No one likes ruined seafood.”

“How right you are, dear girl!” said Stephen as he picked up a small fork, reaching forwards to bring a selection of the largest lobster fritters to his plate. Dipper, trying his best, picked up his identical fork.

Pacifica grabbed her utensil as well, and started to reach for the caviar. Due to her short stature, however, she had to slightly lean forwards to get it—as she did so, she winced as she felt her foot slip slightly within her shoes, rubbing her blister against the material of the heel.

With a slight cry, she dropped her fork, sending it clattering down to the floor. She saw the waiter who had been posted to watch them immediately return to the kitchen to get another.

“Here,” Sam said kindly, before the waiter returned. “Use mine. I’m more into the oysters anyway, and you eat those by hand.” Gently, he extended his own appetizer fork to Pacifica, who reached out to take it graciously.

“Thank you, Samuel,” she said as cordially as she could. She was trying to strike a balance between being dismissive of him, which would make Dipper feel better and send a signal to her family, and being nice, which she genuinely wanted to be to her friend. Still, despite her best efforts, she saw Penelope’s smug grin from behind her wineglass when Sam’s tan skin scraped against hers.

Dipper felt himself growing more and more uncomfortable. His body temperature seemed to be swinging wildly, unsure of whether to be angry or defeated, resigned or furious. His white coat, which had previously sat comfortably on his shoulders, now seemed to be ill-fitting and crumpled up.

Sam, who he had never seen before in his life, had effortlessly charmed Ford and humiliated him in front of the family of his girlfriend. His girlfriend sat next to the blonde, Ivy league teenager, and seemed to share an easy company with him. They had been friends before Dipper even knew Pacifica, much less before he had come to like her.

“You know,” said Sam as he held up a tiny spoon that held a small clump of black caviar. “I’m not sure if this is really beluga caviar.” Pacifica looked at him askance.

“I assure you that it is,” said Preston, taken aback. “I have the personal guarantee of my importer. If it’s not, I’ll report him to the authorities for caviar fraud. How can you tell?”

“It’s not that it tastes bad,” began Sam, a knowing look on his face. “It’s just that belugas are whales, and they give birth to live young. They don’t have eggs like this.”

For a moment, the table was silent. Then, Pacifica burst out into laughter, overcome by the absolute stupidity of his joke. Soon, the rest of the table was laughing along with him, though with a much more dignified sound than Pacifica’s impulsive cackle had been.

Dipper didn’t get it. Belugas were whales… that much he knew. What was the joke? He was only confused for a moment, however, before he was overcome by another sensation—envy.

His eyes, which had previously been captivated by the spectacle of high society before him, focused in on one thing only—Pacifica, in her laughter, had leaned over to Sam, and lightly touched his arm with her shoulder. It was a friendly gesture, one of comfort and of freedom. Dipper swallowed the small bite of caviar he had taken, finding the salty popping sensation of the small orbs unpleasant.

“A clever joke, Sam,” laughed Preston, sighing as he caught his breath. He took a final sip from his wineglass, and then held it up, indicating that he needed a refill. “If anyone would know about the differences between kinds of caviar, and how to turn a darling profit with them, it would be you!” The rest of the table nodded in agreement with the patriarch. Pacifica glanced at Sam, who accepted the praise quietly.

With that, Preston Northwest made eye contact with Dipper and, holding his ruby red glass to his lips, winked.

Dipper swallowed, and took a sip of his flat water.


	21. Chess

“And that’s why—why it’s a bad—bad idea to let people vote by mail!” struggled Stephen, deep into his fifth glass of wine.

“I totally-ly agree!” said Sophia from across the table, placing her empty ramekin of cranachan back onto the table and reaching for her own glass. “You see, Preston,” she continued, “you’ve got things good up here in the Northwest. It was pure America from the beginning! But back in the Old South, there were Spaniards, the French, everyone! We still haven’t cleaned up their mess!”

“You’ve done a pretty good job, though,” replied Penelope, leaning forward to look at the opposite end of the table. “Very few Catholics.”

“I’ve never been fond of Catholics, mother,” answered Preston from the head of the table. “I mean, I like their taste in architecture, but it’s all very expensive and inefficient voodoo.”

Dipper, at the foot of the table, sat there horrified. He had sustained appearances throughout the course of the meal very well, and simply watched from the sidelines as the adults became drunker and drunker, and their comments more and more egregious. Simon, having finished his dessert, had immediately snuck away from the table.

Pacifica and Sam sat next to each other placidly, seemingly resigned to the barrage of xenophobia and hatred that emerged from their families. Dipper knew Pacifica didn’t agree with it, and he hoped Sam didn’t either, but they had clearly experienced enough of these dinners that they had grown used to their usual course. Pacifica had finished her first glass of champagne and gotten a refill, while Sam had been satisfied with a single one. Occasionally, they leaned over and whispered something to each other.

All of the food had been delicious. Dipper wasn’t fond of the caviar, but the steak was perfectly marbled, and the pasta incredibly fine and buttery. The cranachan was fresh, and had a slight punch due to the whisky that was mixed throughout it—though he didn’t drink, he figured that having some alcohol in the dessert wasn’t that heinous of a crime. They were serving it to Simon, after all.

“What do you think, Dipper?” asked Priscilla, her head weaving back and forth as she looked at him. Yet again, everyone turned to look at him, though this time their eyes drifted much more slowly.

“A-about what?” stammered Dipper, caught off guard. He had quickly gotten the general gist of their conversation and, deciding that he didn’t want to hear it, had filtered it out. He hadn’t expected anyone to ask him his opinion. He would have to tread carefully.

“About the election, of course!” she continued, in disbelief that Dipper could even think of something else. “It’s the only thing anyone talks about. After they had to do that recount in Montana of all places! It’s a mockery of the great American political system.”

“Oh,” said Dipper, relieved. “I’m not old enough to vote. Since I can’t, I haven’t really done enough research to have a proper opinion.”

“Research?” Priscilla hiccupped, confused. “That’s not what I asked. I asked what your _opinion_ was.” She shook her head.

“I don’t have one,” Dipper reiterated. “I think an opinion should be supported by information, and I don’t have enough to make a decision.”

The entire table burst out laughing. Dipper wasn’t certain what he had said that was so impossibly funny.

“Come on, Priscilla,” said Phoebe, gently reaching out to touch her daughter’s arm. She had had two fewer glasses of wine than the rest of the adults, but she was still clearly tipsy. “Don’t harass the child. He knows when he’s talking about something above his pay grade.”

Pacifica winced—Phoebe was typically nice, but she still had her own prestigious family legacy. It could creep out whenever her inhibitions were looser.

“I just don’t get how he can be so disinterested!” said Priscilla, ashamed. “I mean, our money is at stake! Who could not care?”

“Mom, how many glasses have you had so far?” Pacifica asked, leaning forward slightly.

“Sieght,” Priscilla slurred. Pacifica shook her head. The dinner was over, which meant that she could attempt to free Dipper from the bonds of social obligation. She would have to be clever, though. Preston wouldn’t allow them to slink off together.

“Say, Dipper,” began Pacifica, looking down the table at him. Sam’s eyes followed hers, though no one else seemed to be paying attention. “Why don’t you go and play with Simon? I’m sure he’d enjoy the company.”

“I don’t really wan—” began Dipper, before looking at Pacifica’s wide eyes as she subtly nodded her head. He recognized that she had a plan, and changed his tack.

“Sure!” Dipper replied cheerfully. “I’ll go make sure that he hasn’t wandered off too far.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” said Preston, cheerfully. “Go _play_ with the child. Leave us to our sophisticated conversation.” Dipper stood up and pushed his chair in, keeping his mouth shut as he did so. As much as he desperately wanted to tell Preston off, he didn’t want to cross the patriarch—especially when he was drunk.

Dipper walked around the right side of the table, opposite Pacifica. As he did so, he gave her a reassuring nod, which she returned. Slowly, taking care to keep away from the bells, he walked up the main staircase and ducked into the nearby hallway. The waiter, who still stood there to keep an eye on the party, had grown bored and was playing a game on his phone. He was unimpressed by Dipper’s presence.

“Dad,” began Pacifica, eliciting a startled hiccup from Preston. Dipper, barely out of sight, was able to overhear her perfectly. “Sam and I are going to retire to the parlor, with your permission.”

“Of course!” said everyone around the table at the same time, excepting Phoebe. They immediately saw the opportunity to allow Sam and Pacifica a little private time, which they sprang at.

“Enjoy it, you two,” chuckled Penelope as she held her glass upside down, attempting to drain the few remaining drops before she refilled from the bottle, which had been placed on the table. “You’re young. Be crazy!”

“But not too crazy,” said Sophia, trying to keep a stern expression on her face but unable to keep a cheerful smile from breaking through.

“Don’t worry, mother,” said Sam, standing up next to Pacifica and handing her the still nearly full glass of champagne. “I’m a proper southern gentleman. Perfectly decent.”

“’Southern gentleman,’” chuckled Stephen to himself. “That means a whole lot.” Sam remained silent, but rolled his eyes as the two teenagers began to walk up the stairs to the balcony where Dipper stood waiting. The adults apparently hadn’t considered the possibility that Dipper would have just waited to hang out with the people his own age, instead of running to a kid he barely knew.

“That was pretty smooth, Paz,” said Dipper as his girlfriend approached him, Sam standing next to her. “Thanks for saving me.”

“Well, you deserved to be saved,” Pacifica replied, looking Dipper up and down. His suit was still sharp and well-pressed, with no stains or errant crinkles. Dipper had been very careful to keep it clean. “After all, you put up with a full hour of my family. And you did a very good job.”

“Really?” asked Dipper, pleased to hear Pacifica complimenting his social performance. “I don’t think I said anything clever or worthwhile at all.”

“Well, no one else said anything clever either,” scoffed Sam, shaking his head. “Every year, it seems like they get a little worse.”

“Every year,” confirmed Pacifica, rolling her eyes. She took Dipper by the hand and started to lead him down the hallway. Sam followed close behind. “But, we’re free now, which means that we can actually hang out and talk.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” continued Sam, as they turned the corner and Pacifica opened a door that Dipper had never noticed before. There were so many rooms in the Manor that it would take days to fully explore them all. “Pacifica’s never even brought a friend to this dinner before, much less a boyfriend. I’m wondering what it is that makes you so special.”

Dipper couldn’t get a read on Sam. His words seemed harsh and probing, but it also was a perfectly legitimate question. What did make Pacifica choose him? Dipper himself wasn’t sure. Before he could figure out what to say in response, his eyes snapped to the room they were entering. It was relatively small, but very densely decorated.

Three large leather chairs accented with brass surrounded a central coffee table, which was made of a redwood stump covered with glass. A dark fireplace loaded with wood was off on one side of the room, the only illumination coming from shaded lamps that had been placed on custom carved tables next to the chairs. Lining the wall opposite the fireplace were bookshelves, and the far wall was covered in paintings. Thankfully, these weren’t paintings of the Northwest ancestors, but were rather hyper-realistic landscapes. If there had been shutters around them, they could have passed for windows.

“Ahh,” sighed Sam as he stepped into the room and took a deep breath. “I’ve missed the smell of this old room. It’s always so rich and musty.”

“Yeah, sorry,” said Pacifica as she walked over to the bookshelves. “I was going to light a fire in here to try and burn out the smell, but the time slipped away from me.” Though the bookshelf seemed to have no rhyme or reason in the way it was organized, she knew exactly where to look—pulling out a rectangular wooden box and carrying it to the coffee table.

“Well, we can solve that,” Sam replied, walking over to the fire. He reached into his white jacket and pulled out a small lighter, kneeling as he picked up a small piece of tinder. He quickly sparked it to life, and dropped it back in amidst the larger logs. The wood, which had remained unlit for quite a long time, was dry enough that it almost immediately caught fire, sending a pleasing crackle and the scent of cedar throughout the room.

“So, Sam…” began Dipper tentatively as the taller boy stood up silently, quickly rubbing his hands together to clear them of the wood dust. “Remind me how you know Pacifica again?”

“We’ve been friends for as long as I can remember,” said Sam, turning around and taking off his jacket. He walked over to the three chairs and draped the coat over the back of one of them. With the extra fabric gone, Dipper could clearly see how the buttons around the chest of the shirt struggled to keep him in—it was little wonder that he had opted not to wear a tie. “Our families knew each other long before we were even born, and we’re just so close in age that we’ve always hung out together. Not that we ever had much choice.”

“Trust me,” said Pacifica, snorting to herself. “If you had turned out even slightly like your parents, I would have ended our friendship as quickly as possible. Every time I have to deal with them, I think that they’re actually worse than mine.”

“They’re not worse,” replied Sam, sitting down and gesturing for Dipper to sit across from him. Dipper complied. “They’re just more obvious about it. The opinions they have are common enough in the South that it’s easier to get away with expressing them. Loudly.”

“And you… don’t share those opinions?” asked Dipper, trying to glean as much information about the other boy as he could.

“Of course not!” laughed Sam boisterously. “I may have the name Southeast, but I’ve actually done my research on things. Though, I must admit that I didn’t think belittling Catholicism would come up in conversation this evening. Usually it’s pretty predictable, but that was a new one.”

“Thank Granny Penelope for that,” Pacifica mumbled snidely. “The things that she says get more ridiculous every time I hear her. Pretty soon she’s going to tell us that she wants to learn Russian.”

“Russian’s not a bad language,” acknowledged Sam. “They’ve got good oil and mineral reserves. Their manufacturing capability is trash, but they’ve at least got the resources, and they’re more than willing to sell them to you if you grease the right gears.”

“Don’t act like you know what you’re talking about,” said Pacifica, rolling her eyes. “You may have been to New York and Tokyo, but I know you’ve never been to Russia. That’s where even your drunk dad draws the line.” As she spoke, she sat in the one remaining chair, in between Dipper and Sam. The two men faced each other across the coffee table.

Gingerly setting her glass of champagne on the side table next to her chair, she opened the wooden box she had retrieved from the bookshelf. Carefully, she drew out a crystalline chessboard, sixty-four squares of frosted and clear glass mounted on miniscule felted feet.

Placing it in the center of the coffee table, directly between Dipper and Sam, she started setting out the meticulously carved chess pieces. The black ones were carved from ebony, polished to a deep and lustrous shine. Despite this, there were clearly a few places where the pieces were scuffed and marked from repeated use. Dipper reached out and, picking up the pieces, began to place them in front of himself.

The white pieces came next, fashioned from fragments of real ivory. Their eggshell hue reflected the flickering light of the fire, casting shadows in the crannies of the necks, crowns, and roofs of the pieces. Sam took these pieces and arranged them on his side of the board, moving faster than Dipper. There had been no debate about whether they were going to play chess or not—Pacifica had merely retrieved the board, and both parties had implicitly accepted.

“Is that genuine ivory?” Dipper asked, pointing to Sam’s side of the board. “It seems a little bit… unethical to be using those, doesn’t it?”

“Dipper, this chess set has been in my family since 1912,” Pacifica replied, pointing to a metal plate on the bottom of the box. “And after all, not using it isn’t going to put the tusks back on the elephant, so we might as well.”

“The elephant would be dead by now anyway,” bolstered Sam. “It’s not an active sin to use them. Though, I actually have a travel chess set in my luggage if you want me to go get it.”

“You’re staying here tonight?!” asked Dipper, trying his best to mask his horror.

“Oh, no, not at all!” said Sam, laughing. “We have in previous years, but ever since 2012, your dad has told us that there are some major renovations happening on the other side of the Manor, so all the guest rooms are defunct. Those renovations are taking a while, so I’m really excited to see what the finished product looks like.” Pacifica smiled into her glass of champagne, while Dipper exhaled in relief. Apparently, Preston was so concerned about his relations with the Southeasts that he hadn’t even told them about McGucket.

“As far as the chessboard goes,” Sam continued, “my luggage is actually back at our hotel in town. But I could send our driver to get it. I’m sure that he’d be delighted to have something to do instead of just sitting around.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Dipper, taking a deep breath as he psyched himself up for the coming game. “It’s not that big a deal. I’m fine with using these.”

“Good,” said Sam, reaching out and moving his left knight forward, jumping the front row of pawns and sliding in front of his bishop. “I wouldn’t want to delay your destruction any longer than we have to.”

“Big talk from someone who’s never played me before,” said Dipper, clasping his hands thoughtfully as he evaluated the board. It was very early in the game, but he could tell from Sam’s easy manner that the taller boy knew what he was doing. He would have to pay very close attention if he wanted to succeed. On the opposite side of the board, he moved his leftmost pawn two spaces forward. Freeing a rook early would allow him vital mobility later on. Sam moved the pawn in front of his right bishop two spaces forwards in response. 

“Trust me, Dipper,” said Pacifica, grunting lightly as she turned and threw her legs up over the arm of her leather chair, reclining easily against the other arm. A wave of relief rushed through her as she felt the pressure being lifted off of her feet. “You’ll need all the luck you can get. I’ve still never been able to beat him.”

“You’ve never been able to beat me, either,” replied Dipper, sliding his rook forwards.

“Well, that’s also true,” smiled Pacifica as she took another sip of the sparkling liquid. It made her happy to see her boyfriend and her childhood friend playing a game together, even if it was something as directly competitive as chess. 

“So,” began Sam, as he slid his pawn forward one space, moving it into the pocket formed by Dipper’s rook and extended pawn, and the line of his other pieces. It wasn’t directly threatening anything, but would pose an obstacle to him. “Why exactly did your great-uncle want a sample of my blood? He’s not a vampire, is he?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Dipper sighed, propping his chin up with his hand. All of his brainpower was being used for evaluating the possible permutations of the game, and what he needed to do now to avoid his position becoming worse. “Paz,” he said, calling her by her nickname. “Do you think that you could tell Sam what we’re dealing with? If you think he’s trustworthy, of course.”

“What, you don’t trust me?” smiled Sam at Dipper.

“I’ve known you for all of two hours,” replied Dipper, never taking his eyes from the board. “I’m going to defer to the opinion of someone I _trust,_ who has apparently hung out with you for quite a long time.”

“We’ve _known_ each other a long time,” said Pacifica, rolling her eyes as the champagne tickled her nose. “We haven’t actually _seen_ each other all that often. Just at the Christmas Eve Party and the Fourth of July Party.”

“Since when has there been a Fourth of July Party?” asked Dipper, confused.

“It’s back in South Carolina,” Sam replied, reclining back into the cushioning of his chair. “It’s fun. There’s a great fireworks display.”

“We can’t even have fireworks in California,” said Dipper, smiling as something just occurred to him. “We’d set the entire state on fire.” Quickly, he reached forward and grabbed the pawn in front of his queen. Moving it forwards two spaces, next to Sam’s advanced pawn, he laughed in victory as he removed Sam’s pawn from the board.

“ _En passant,_ ” smiled Sam, proudly. “I was banking on you not knowing that move. And it just cost me a pawn. Well played.”

“Well,” replied Dipper, still pleased with himself. “There’s still a lot of game to go.”

“That there is,” said Sam, advancing his knight towards Dipper’s defending line. Dipper moved his rook in response, which Sam easily sidestepped. “I still want to hear about the blood thing, though,” he continued as play progressed.

“Oh, sorry,” said Pacifica, drawing her attention back to the conversation. She had grown distracted by several things in turn—the roaring fire, the sparkling of her dress, and the lines that Dipper’s brow made as he focused. “But yeah, I trust you. So I guess you’ve earned the right to hear the truth. The long story short is that there’s a shapeshifter loose.”

“A shapeshifter,” said Sam, his voice neutral. “Remind me, blondie, how many of those glasses you’ve had?”

“Just two!” defended Pacifica, offended. “And I’m not kidding about that. It’s a very serious problem!”

“Do you have any evidence of this?” asked Sam, raising his eyebrows. “Before I invest in anything, I make them show me their balance sheets.”

“Other than the fact that we were worried enough about to institute blood testing,” began Dipper as he struggled to remove his jacket, “I’ve got a fresh cut that it gave me, if an injury would be any evidence for you.”

“Wait, you’re not joking, are you?” Sam continued, looking from Dipper’s face to Pacifica’s, and back again.

“Nope,” said Dipper, sighing. He attempted to pull up his shirt sleeve to show Sam the bandages, but found that the diamond cufflinks made that impossible. Instead, he quickly pulled off his bow tie and undid his top four buttons, pulling his shoulder out and exposing his upper arm just enough to show the white fabric—the center still stained slightly pink from where Pacifica had torn the scab the night before.

“Jesus,” Sam muttered, shocked. Dipper looked at his face with a smirk, proud to have impressed his opponent. As he did so, however, he saw that Sam wasn’t looking merely at his arm, but also at the complex web of scars crisscrossing his chest and abdomen. Pacifica looked as well, though for a decidedly different reason.

“Sorry,” said Dipper, immediately drawing his arm back into his sleeve and buttoning his shirt. “I sometimes forget how much stuff I’ve been hit by.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” said Sam, swallowing. “So, when you were talking about hunting monsters at dinner, you were serious?”

“Dead,” replied Dipper, sternly. “Everyone else just made a mockery of it, but it’s a real thing. And it’s not really monster _hunting,_ so to speak. More like monster _investigating.”_

“I knew I had seen some things in the woods up here…” muttered Sam to himself. “But I didn’t count on anything as frightening as a shapeshifter. But, more importantly, how have you not made money from that yet?” Sam asked, wondering. “If I had to put up with that much abuse for my job, I’d make sure I got paid.”

“Well, it’s not really about the money right now,” Dipper said, moving his left bishop and restoring play after the distraction of his scars. “Plus, I’m sixteen. As nice as it would be to have the money, I don’t really need it right now. I’ve got everything I need to get by.”

“And you can always ask Pacifica if you need some liquid cash,” chuckled Sam.

“He’s never asked me for money before,” smiled Pacifica. “I imagine he will eventually, but not yet. He still drives an old used pickup truck.” As she spoke, she got up and stepped over to Sam’s chair, where she sat sidesaddle on the right arm. She had just gotten much closer to Sam than she was to Dipper.

“Oh, that was yours?” asked Sam, surprised. “I saw it outside when we drove up, even though it was parked around back. I thought it was the gardener’s, or something.” He seemed oblivious to Pacifica’s movement.

“Nope,” replied Dipper through gritted teeth. “Francine’s mine, and she hasn’t let me down yet.” His eyes scanned Pacifica, but she seemed utterly engrossed in the game and conversation. All throughout the night, he had been hot with embarassment and shame--but now, that heat seemed to alter and redouble in intensity. He tried to control his breathing.

“Those old things are tough,” acknowledged Sam, shaking his head. “It’s really impressive, if she’s been put through as much abuse as you’ve experienced. Those adventures do sound fun, though… I wish I could tag along, but it seems dangerous. I’m just glad you haven’t drug Pacifica along with you.”

“He has,” Pacifica said, observing the chess game. Sam clearly had the initiative, as was common for those who played with white, but Dipper was subtly moving pieces about behind his own defensive line. “Just yesterday, we got trapped underground and had to dig our way out. It ruined one of my nails.” She playfully pouted as she observed the crack in her ring finger.

“You buried her alive?!” asked Sam, horrified at the admittedly limited information that Pacifica had given him. She had made it sound far more dangerous that it was—it made their escape seem more heroic, but also riskier.

“Not intentionally,” sighed Dipper. “That was when the shapeshifter attacked. Also, Pacifica, do you think that you could sit back in your chair over there? It’s distracting to have you looking over Sam’s shoulder.”

“It’s chess, Dipper,” replied Pacifica, rolling her eyes. “It’s not like poker. We can all see the board.” Dipper exhaled.

“Then… if you fought the shapeshifter, how do you know that you’re the real you?” asked Sam, pointing at Dipper, redirecting the conversation. “I know Pacifica’s real, because I recognize the fondness for champagne and the sharp attitude, but I know nothing about you.” Pacifica lightly punched him in the arm.

“That’s where the blood test comes in,” replied Dipper, pointing at his finger, trying to distract himself from the rising current of red in his veins. How could Pacifica not notice what she was doing? “The shapeshifter doesn’t have blood. If someone bleeds, then they’re clean.”

“So you have to stab yourselves every time you want to verify each other?” Sam wondered. “Seems like that’d take a toll over time.

“We’ve got a shorthand way of checking each other,” said Pacifica, lolling her head over the back of Sam’s chair. “It makes it easier.”

“And what is that?” asked Sam. “I may need to look into it myself, if this monster is a real threat. Provided it’s not too… risqué.”

“Don’t tell him,” cautioned Dipper as Pacifica raised her glass of champagne, preparing to speak up. “Sorry Sam,” he continued, “but the system only works if we’re the only two who know about it. Introducing you would compromise the dynamic.”

“Ooh,” Sam continued, narrowing his eyes. “Sounds pretty risqué to me. You’d better hope I don’t tell your dad.”

“It’s not,” Pacifica said, snapping to attention. “But even if it was, you wouldn’t dare. You’re too cool for that.”

“Why thank you,” smiled Sam as he captured Dipper’s rook. It had been able to do quite a bit of damage before he had taken it out, but Dipper had made a mistake. “I suppose you’re right. It’s not like you snitched on me when I told you about changing my portfolio.”

“Why would she snitch on you for that?” wondered Dipper aloud, running his hands through his hair as he tried to plot out a recovery from the blow he had just been dealt, while avoiding eye contact with Sam.

“I don’t know if you picked up on this at dinner,” began Sam, “but my dad has some very strong opinions about the kinds of things that should and shouldn’t be invested in. He’s always been traditional—hard products, hard factories, hard cash. But, I was doing some research online two years ago and stumbled upon cryptocurrencies.

“My dad doesn’t get how they work, and wouldn’t give me any capital for it. But I did the research and figured it out. Once I understood them, I may have sold off a few shares we had in a steel mill without his knowledge to get a little nest egg going.”

“So you basically stole from your dad,” sighed Dipper. “For no better reason than to make more money.”

“Crypto is the future!” defended Sam. “As soon as the big banks can figure out how to integrate such a volatile asset into their balance books, we’ll all get into it. I just got in on the ground floor. Plus, it’s not like I really stole from him—I made enough money to buy back the shares I sold.”

“Still, it sounds a little… unethical,” Dipper replied. “More so than playing with a chess set made from hundred-year-old elephant ivory.”

“Hey,” said Sam sharply. “Compared to my ancestors, I’ve done nothing bad at all. I’m still trying to make up for what they did. After all, isn’t stealing from the rich supposed to be a positive action? Like Robin Hood.”

“Yeah, but Robin Hood gave what he stole to the poor,” continued Dipper, fierily. He was trying to keep his voice calm, but Sam was pushing his buttons—bragging about unethically making money, beating him in chess, and occasionally flashing him an obnoxiously white toothed grin, all while Pacifica, sipping her glass of champagne, sat beside him—almost touching.

“I think it was a clever business decision,” complimented Pacifica. “I’m not as into the stock market as you, but even I know that diversification is the key.”

“Pacifica,” Dipper asked again, swallowing, “could you come sit beside me for a little bit? I think I may need some advice here.”

“You don’t need me, Dipstick,” smiled Pacifica. “You’re way better at chess than me. What could I bring to the table?”

“A unique perspective,” smiled Dipper painfully, trying to avoid wiping the sweat from his brow. An involuntary tremor went through his left arm, stress hormones surging through him as his exhaustion caught up with him. He winced as the motion pulled at the bandage wrapped around the shapeshifter wound.

“My perspective is that you should have taken that knight when you had the chance,” smirked Sam as he reached back behind his queen and pulled out his knight, stepping in an L to knock Dipper’s last remaining bishop off of the board. Dipper was getting eviscerated, though checkmate was still a good many moves away.

“I told you he was good,” shrugged Pacifica.

“I know you told me he was good,” muttered Dipper. “But I’d bet he’s never shown you an alien spaceship before.”

“You’ve got aliens too?” asked Sam enthusiastically. Dipper immediately kicked himself, not knowing why he’d mentioned Crash Site Omega. If Sam wanted anything to do with it, it would be as a money making scheme. He could sell the metal for a king’s ransom.

“That is true,” confirmed Pacifica. “I mean, I guess that you could consider Southerners aliens, in a certain sense,” she continued. “But I don’t think they count.”

“They don’t,” replied Dipper sternly.

“But have you ever taken her skiing in the Alps?” Sam fired back. Dipper’s head snapped to attention. “That was a fun week,” he continued, oblivious to Dipper’s reaction. Dipper hoped sincerely that he was referring to a vacation the two families had taken together.

“No, I haven’t,” Dipper replied. “Though we have been skiing before.”

“I took _you_ skiing,” said Pacifica pointedly. “Not that that matters. The biggest difference was really that it was on Mt. Rainier versus the Alps. Two entirely different sets of slopes.”

“I bet Mt. Rainier doesn’t have Swiss hot chocolate and fondue,” commented Sam. He seemed intent on one-upping Dipper at every possible turn.

“They had a self-serve coffee station,” confirmed Pacifica. “Not quite the same.”

“Which one did you prefer?” asked Sam. Dipper’s throat went dry.

“Oh, definitely Mt. Rainier,” Pacifica replied. Dipper breathed slightly easier as Pacifica continued. “Back in the Alps we had to deal with both your family and mine all weekend. The food was good, but they just wouldn’t shut up. On Mt. Rainier I had my friends, and privacy.”

“I really want to ask them to give us a rest,” said Sam, shaking his head. “But I don’t think they’ll ever stop trying to get us to start dating.” As he spoke, he slowly reached one arm up and around Pacifica, pulling her into a side hug.

In a flash, before Dipper even realized what was happening, his heartbeat pounded into his ears, drowning out the noise of his brain. He had only been truly angry in his life several times, but this surge of heat eclipsed them all. Thunderously, he stood up, pushing the coffee table away, causing the chess pieces to tumble and scatter.

“That’s it, Samuel!” he bellowed, speaking from the bottom of his chest in a way Pacifica had never heard. His voice seemed to have instantly dropped an octave. “Pacifica is _my_ girlfriend! And you’ve done nothing since you walked in here but berate and belittle me, and I’m fed up with it!” The explicit mention of Sam and Pacifica dating had pushed Dipper over the edge.

Sam sat pressed into the cushions of his chair, taken aback by what he perceived as a sudden outburst. To him, it had come out of nowhere. He immediately retracted his arm from around Pacifica and clasped his hands in front of him, an almost instinctual motion. Pacifica didn’t move, staring at Dipper, mouth agape.

“I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sam finally said, attempting to keep his voice steady. He wasn’t angry, and all of his energy came from fear and confusion. “If I’ve done something to offend you, I genuinely don’t know what it was.”

“What haven’t you done?” continued Dipper, flinging his hands into the air, and pulling his shirt loose from where it had been tucked into his pants. “You make me look stupid about gemstones at the dinner table, you got Grunkle Ford drooling over you in thirty seconds, you share silverware with my girlfriend, and you’ve had your hands over her all night! I kept it together in front of your parents, but not in here!”

“None of that was—” stammered Sam.

“What the hell, Dipper?” Pacifica said, standing up and lifting her glass of champagne into the air. “Sam is my friend, and he hasn’t attacked you in any way! He’s done nothing but be nice to you, asking about your monster hunting and giving you advice! If you’ve got a problem with him, you should really ask him to change his behavior before you blow up at him.”

“What about your behavior?” Dipper snapped. “You went and snuggled up next to him on that chair, and every time I asked you to stop, all you did was get closer! Do you know how that makes me feel?”

Pacifica lowered her glass and cast her eyes to the floor, astonished. One and a half glasses of champagne wasn’t enough to get her tipsy, so she had no convenient excuse for not noticing his hints.

“And that’s just tonight!” Dipper continued. “Ever since I got back to Gravity Falls, you’ve done nothing but tell me what I can’t do! I wanted to talk with Wendy, and you told me not to. I wanted to do something nice for Ford, and you told me not to! And then Ford yelled at me for actually doing it!” He winced as he lowered his arms, feeling the stress that the motion had put on his stitches.

“And then, when I come to your stupid party, what do I find but that you have this secret family friend that you’ve been jet-setting off around the world with on these glamorous vacations? I put up with the madness of your family, only to find out that there’s this grand conspiracy to force us apart?

“You might be commandingly perfect to the rest of the town, but you’re not the boss of me,” Dipper finished, a growl in his voice. “Your Northwest name means nothing.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Pacifica asked, dangerously cool as her blue eyes flashed up, glinting in the firelight. Dipper’s anger receded just enough for a pulse of fear to rush through him, though his expression and stance never wavered.

“My Northwest name means nothing? Is that what you said? I want to make sure that I heard you right,” Pacifica enunciated clearly, menacing forwards. Sam receded even more deeply into his leather chair, caught in the middle of a storm that had been brewing for a while and now surged forth explosively. 

“My Northwest name means _everything,_ ” she snarled. “I’ve given it up for you—I’ve sacrificed trips, and private school offers, and sponsorship deals so you can drag me through the woods and wind up getting hurt. I may have changed, but I can have that all back in an _instant_ if I want it.” Her eyes narrowed.

“You think you’re scared of the Northwest side of me? You think I’m too ashamed of my past to use the power I have? Think again. I am Pacifica Elise _Northwest_ , and you are going to listen to what I have to say.

“Mason Pines, I have done nothing but sacrifice for you,” she continued, placing a finger on his chest. “Every time that I have yelled at you this week, I’ve been _right_ _about it.”_

“I wanted us to listen to Challah and stay out of that alien ship. We didn’t, and the shapeshifter got loose. It hurt Stan and Waddles, and we still don’t know for sure if Waddles is going to make it.

“When we were in the ship, I was the one who saw those footprints and made us follow them. You were on the verge of a breakdown, and I was the one who pulled you out of it. If we hadn’t done that, we would never have gotten out in time to warn the rest of the Shack about the shapeshifter.

“I didn’t want to let the fake Wendy in in the first place, but I let you convince me. I _let_ you convince me. I trusted you, and it almost destroyed the Shack.

“And once she was inside, I told you not to slink off with that fake ginger to do who knows what. And Dipper, I don’t know if you remember, but she turned out to be the shapeshifter! It would have _killed_ you if I hadn’t put my foot down.

“And what have you done?” she scoffed, turning around. “Every time I've tried to protect us, you've ignored me. You haven't listened. You’ve turned down every chance for us to spend time together. You didn’t tell me about your fling with Candy, even if it was nothing, and chose not to sleep with me that first night.” Sam’s eyes grew wide.

“Almost like you were ashamed of me,” she said, her voice cracking as salty tears brimmed at her eyes. She choked them back, not wanting to ruin her makeup. “Like you think the Northwest name is a mark that I can never wash away. Like I’m nothing but a stain.”

“It’s impossible to make up for every horrible thing that your name has done,” began Dipper, trying to tamp down the flames of his outburst. Pacifica felt her heart clench in her chest, forcing a choking sob into her throat. Dipper’s words echoed those of Wendy the night before, reminding her viscerally of the all too real devastation her name had caused. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t try.”

“It’s not my _job_ to try!” Pacifica screamed, turning around. “I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t ask for this family, I didn’t ask for them to keep me sheltered and prim and proper, not knowing right from wrong! I didn’t ask for the money! And I definitely didn’t ask them to constantly, incessantly, tell me what a good little housewife I would make for Sam!”

All of the progress that Dipper had made in tamping down his rage was erased as he stepped forwards, the word ‘wife’ causing his stomach to drop impossibly farther than it had at ‘dating.’ Pacifica, instantly realizing what she had said, tried to step in front of Dipper.

Dipper, however, was oblivious. His bulk was too great, and his vision too red. Like a raging bull, he bumped into Pacifica, not even feeling the impact at first.

It had been a glancing blow, and hadn’t hurt her in any way. In fact, he had barely touched her—she had stumbled due to her quick movements and precarious perch atop her high heels.

However, the impact was more than enough to tip her glass of champagne, sending a cascading wave of golden sparkling wine down the bodice of her dress. The sky blue of the fabric was instantly cast to midnight, the diamonds woven throughout the fabric losing some of their luster.

Pacifica felt her face contorting, the belittling Northwest anger that she had worked so hard to purge from her skin returning, eyes narrowing in displeasure. Though the splash of the cool champagne had immediately sunk through the dress to her skin, she felt burning hot. She loved this dress, and she loved Dipper. There was no outlet.

She was no longer able to contain her tears. Too distracted to even feel the pain of her feet, she charged forwards, throwing the empty glass to the side as she pushed past Dipper and opened the door to the parlor, storming down the hallway to her room.

Dipper looked around in desperation, his heart rate finally beginning to slow. He could barely remember what he had said. Sam sat in his chair in shock, not speaking a word.

Soon, the pounding of blood in Dipper’s head gave way to the renewed chorus of his brain. What had he done? Feeling a surge of embarrassment and anxiety within him, he rushed to the door, trying to act before he was drowned.

As soon as he stepped past the doorframe, however, he stopped.

At the far end of the hallway, silhouetted by the twinkling of the chandeliers and Christmas lights, stood Preston and Stephen. He couldn’t see their eyes, but he could clearly hear the sound of their wineglasses as they offered a cheerful toast.


	22. Author

Dipper stepped back into the parlor, closing the door behind him with a slam. Leaning against the hard wood, he felt the scrape of the molding against his back. Slowly, he slid down to sit on the floor with a hard thud, tucking his head between his knees.

“What?” he whispered to himself, confused. “What did I just say? Did I miss something?”

“Wow,” said Sam, gently leaning forward and pulling away from the cushioning of his chair. Dipper’s head snapped up, making eye contact with him. “I… wasn’t expecting that,” Sam continued as he knelt down and started to pick up the chess pieces that had been scattered in the explosion.

“You wanted this, and don’t even try to tell me that you didn’t,” snarled Dipper, woozily standing up as his heart struggled to feed blood to both his muscles and his head. “You’ve done nothing but ruin things since you showed up.”

“Dipper,” Sam sighed, standing up and walking over to him. He moved slowly, like he was approaching a rabid dog. “Can we talk? Man to man.”

Dipper took a deep breath. Since the insecurities of his first summer in the Falls, he had grown immensely in his understanding of what it meant to be a man. Even with that growth, however, he felt the impulse to brush his problems to the side and ignore them. He understood why the manotaurs lived the way they did.

Now, however, he had a choice. To walk away would be to surrender to Preston and Stephen, and give up Pacifica to the whims of whatever she chose to do next. She had broken away from her family for Dipper, but she had been absolutely right when she had pointed out that she would be received back into the fold with open arms if she chose to.

Dipper, knowing how much of a toll it had placed on her to both live within the structures of her family, and break from them, didn’t want to condemn her to the same struggle again. He didn’t want to lose her.

“Fine,” Dipper sighed, through gritted teeth. He paused, reconsidered, and then spoke more clearly. “Yes, we can talk. But you go first. I think I kind of… spilled my guts on what I think earlier.”

“You did,” smiled Sam, weakly. He reached out to take Dipper by the shoulder, but then thought better of it. He turned, beginning to gesture that they should return to the chairs, but stopped that motion as well—it would be better if they were both standing.

“Dipper,” he began, quietly, yet still audible over the crackling of the fire. “I’m sorry.” Dipper was taken aback, but still not convinced. Nothing Sam had said had indicated that he would be in earnest now.

“For what?” Dipper replied, trying to keep his voice free of venom, and only partially succeeding.

“For acting like I did,” said Sam, clasping his hands behind his back. “I didn’t realize that you didn’t know about me, and if I had, I would have clarified my relationship with Pacifica from the very beginning.” Dipper’s eyes narrowed at the word ‘relationship.’

“I wondered why Pacifica never told me about you,” asked Dipper, pointedly. It was a lie of omission, even if she apparently had wanted to tell him. It was a violation of Dipper’s trust.

As soon as the word ‘trust’ flashed through Dipper’s mind, however, he remembered Pacifica’s poisoned words. He hadn’t trusted her either—about the shapeshifter, about descending into Omega—about anything. His skin grew clammy.

“I was wondering that too,” continued Sam, cocking his head to the side. “The only thing I can think of, based on my limited knowledge of what your relationship is like, is that she was _scared_ of telling you. Like she thought you knowing about me would stress you out.”

“Stress is an understatement,” Dipper replied, crossing his arms.

“The fear of the unknown is always greater than the fear of the threat that actually is,” proclaimed Sam. “If you know the problem that you’re facing, you can deal with it. But the unknown is opaque, incomprehensible. So, when I walked into the room, I could have been anything to you. It was entirely reasonable for you to be freaked out—even if yelling at me was a little harsh.”

“I’m… sorry about that too,” acknowledged Dipper. “It’s been a stressful couple of days. I haven’t slept well in a long time.”

“It sounds stressful!” recognized Sam, smiling. “Between the shapeshifter and being buried alive, and then me, it’s… a gauntlet. So, let me do what I can to remove some of that stress.”

“How?” asked Dipper, beginning to sniffle before drawing the impulse back in.

“By telling you about me, and answering any questions that you have,” assured Sam.

“Fine, then,” said Dipper. “When you were talking about your families wanting you and Pacifica to date, what was that? What _was_ that?”

“It’s a long story,” sighed Sam, rolling his eyes. “But I’d be glad to tell it to you.

“First, a little bit of history. The Northwests and the Southeasts have been friends for a long time, but we drew much closer together after World War II. There were some investment shenanigans that were lucrative for both parties.

“The difference between our families is that the Southeasts just invest in companies. We have stakes in a lot of industries, but not enough to have a controlling share in any one business. We profit, and have a lot of burners on the stove, but we don’t do any of the actual manufacturing.

“The Northwests, however, own the factories outright. They make the hard goods that can be sold and traded, and have real-world value. The mudflap factory in town here isn’t the only one they own—they’ve got a very diverse portfolio, and they own it all.

“The Southeasts have always been richer, and Preston’s envious of that. However, the Northwests own the hard factories, which my dad is jealous of. Of course, neither of them will actually talk to each other about what they really want. Not like what we’re doing now.” Sam removed his hands from behind his back and stuck them in his pockets, becoming more comfortable.

“So… forcing the two of you together is a subtle way of uniting the assets?” Dipper concluded, immediately seeing where Sam was going.

“Yup,” Sam sighed. “The manufacturing and financial legacies would be united into one massive conglomerate, and everyone would profit.”

“Then why haven’t you gotten with Pacifica yet?” Dipper asked, accusingly. Sam placed his hands back behind himself. “You seem to like money enough to steal for it. She only started breaking free from her parents three years ago. You could have kept her captive if you wanted to.”

“Dipper, I didn’t keep all the money I made from the crypto,” said Sam, reaching over to run the cord around his left wrist between his fingers. “If I didn’t tell my dad about selling the steel shares, I definitely didn’t tell him about the money I made from blockchain.”

“Then what did you do with it?” continued Dipper.

“Well, I kept some of it in a private account,” answered Sam. “My dad has access to all of the family accounts, which means that I can’t do anything with my own money without him finding out about it. I had to wait until we went on a vacation and he was away from his phone and computer for a week before I was even able to sell the steel.

“But, the rest I gave to charity. I don’t have to worry about food, rent, or paying for college, so that money does no good just sitting there.

“I’m not that big a fan of South Carolina in general. It’s hot, and humid, and, even though the people are nice, most them are pretty close to my dad in… personality.

“If you get out of the towns, though, and out onto the beaches, you can find quiet, isolated stretches of sand and ocean where it’s easy to imagine people never existed. You can’t walk for ten minutes without coming across a freshly dug nest of sea turtle eggs, waiting to hatch and return to the waves. There are dolphins in the water, egrets in the marshes, and the moss hanging from the trees waves in the breeze coming in off of the sea.” Sam sighed.

“It’s the one place I can get away to. Simon’s too much of an indoor kid to follow me, my mom hates the sand, and my dad’s always busy with work. So, I gave my extra money to a nonprofit that keeps the beaches clean. I’m trying to save up enough that I could buy a stretch of the beach outright to keep it untarnished myself, but property values are absurdly high.”

“Not as high as they are in Piedmont, I bet,” smirked Dipper. He hadn’t expected Sam to care so much about anything other than money. It wasn’t like he wanted to research weirdness, but wanting to keep nature untouched and pristine was in the same field.

“No, not that high,” smiled Sam. “Not even I’m crazy enough to invest in that property market.”

“Well, that’s one thing we have in common,” replied Dipper. “My parents only live there because of the tech market. And I’m not interested in that at all.”

“I can understand how it works, but I absolutely couldn’t do it myself. Just bouncing from one computer to another would bum me out pretty quickly. I need to go outside and explore often enough to keep my brain from getting all fudgy.” Sam rapped his knuckles against his skull.

“But… if you like the outdoors so much, and you really want to protect your beaches, then that seems like it’d be just another reason for you to want to take Pacifica,” Dipper mumbled. Seeing the humanity in Sam had taken much of the wind out of his sails, but he was still wary.

“Well, I guess that’s the biggest thing you need to know,” answered Sam. “Ever since Pacifica was born, our parents have been shoving us together whenever we’ve met. In playpens, playrooms, ski slopes, parlors—they thought that both of us growing up together would be enough.” Dipper’s eyes flitted around.

“But, and I’m speaking honestly here—I just don’t like Pacifica like that. She’s smart, and pretty, and funny, and a good friend—but for romance, there needs to be chemistry. And we don’t have that.” Sam shrugged, smiling.

Dipper could scarcely believe what he was hearing. He didn’t understand how any sane man _couldn’t_ be attracted to Pacifica. Even Sam had admitted that she had it all.

“But… why?” Dipper stammered, unable to formulate his question any more specifically. Sam knew what he meant.

“I don’t really know,” Sam answered, returning his hands to his pockets. “I know that she’s not into me, because she’s into you. I’ve thought about the possibility of us before, as a couple—I couldn’t avoid doing that. It never clicked.

“But as for _why_ we don’t click, maybe it’s because we only really see each other two times a year, or occasionally three. That’s not enough for consistency.” Dipper exhaled loudly, a sigh of relief. It had been unexpected, but Dipper could tell from the quaver in Sam’s voice that he was being perfectly earnest.

“Or, maybe,” Sam continued, “it’s because of the hair.”

“Her hair?” Dipper wondered. “That’s like… her fourth best feature.”

“It’s nice, but it’s blonde,” Sam grimaced. “My entire family has been blonde for at least four generations. They only marry blondes, and all their kids are blonde. My family tree looks like a sunflower, for crying out loud, and I’m sick of it.

“I guess I just got so used to associating blondes with my family that, when I see Pacifica, I don’t think of her as a romantic option. She’s just another part of my family. A distant cousin that it’s fun to hang out with on the holidays.” Sam laughed to himself. “I’m sure a psychologist could have a field day with that one.”

Dipper laughed in response, feeling the tension in the air dissipate with the reverberations.

“Well, I’ll try to make sure she doesn’t dye it,” smiled Dipper. It had been a rocky start, and he still wasn’t entirely comfortable around the shrewd taller boy, but he could feel both of them relaxing. “I don’t want you making a move, especially after you eviscerated me in chess like that.”

“Hey, we technically never finished that game,” replied Sam, pointing to the overturned chessboard. “You still could have pulled it out.” Sam shook his head. “But, honestly, even if she dyed her hair, I don’t think I’d try anything. I may have been winning in chess, but I couldn’t beat you in a fight.”

“What makes you think that?” said Dipper, feeling a strange sense of elation at the compliment. “You’ve got a few inches on me, and you seem like you do a lot of swimming.”

“Surfing, mostly,” replied Sam. “The waves aren’t that big in South Carolina, but you can catch a few strong ones if there’s stormy weather coming in with the high tide.

“I may be strong,” he continued, “but you’ve got experience. I saw your scars. You’ve fought way more things that I have, and given that you’re still alive, I’d say that you’re probably pretty good at it.”

“Physical fights, maybe,” Dipper replied, casting his eyes downwards. “But emotional ones are something new.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “I have no idea what I could even say to Pacifica to make up for what just happened.”

“It hasn’t all been your fault,” said Sam, reaching out to touch Dipper on the shoulder. Dipper flinched, but allowed the contact. “If there’s one lesson that we can take from our parents’ conspiring to force us together, it’s that it’s better to talk things through that sticking to your pretensions and trying to manipulate each other.”

“That’s another thing,” began Dipper, looking back up at Sam. “If neither of you wants anything to happen between you, then why haven’t your parents given it a rest yet?”

“Because they’re desperate,” Sam laughed. “At the beginning, they just put us in the same room and hoped magic would happen. But, once it didn’t, they started becoming more and more obvious about their… desires.”

“Maybe you could just tell your parents together that there’s no mutual interest?” Dipper asked, naively. As soon as he did, however, he realized what a foolish question that was. “Never mind,” he continued, shaking his head. “That’s a stupid question.”

“Yeah,” said Sam, mirroring Dipper’s shaking head. “We may not like our families, but we still have to deal with them. And you know from Pacifica that they can make our lives hell if they want to. We don’t have to make them happy, but we can at least avoid antagonizing them. That is, until we’re older and can actually go out on our own.”

“I don’t want Pacifica to have to go back to that,” sighed Dipper. “I don’t want to force her away because I was stupid, especially given everything that she’s been through for me.

“I didn’t even realize how deep the Northwests’ dislike of me went,” Dipper continued. “It wasn’t just that I was tarnishing their name. It’s that I was stealing Pacifica from you.”

“Steal away!” smiled Sam. “You have _my_ full and total permission. You may not have her parents’ approval—but if that didn’t stop her before, I don’t think it’ll stop her now.

“I don’t want you to lose her either. Whenever she talked about the adventures that you two have gone on, I could see the shine in her eyes. She likes you, more than I’ve seen her like anyone before. You two have a good relationship,” Sam continued, patting Dipper’s shoulder.

“Well…” muttered Dipper, “I don’t think we’ve given you the best impression of our relationship tonight.”

“Not yet, you haven’t,” said Sam, his voice calm and collected.

“Dipper, a fight is only the first part of the story,” Sam continued. “Everyone has them. What matters is how that fight is resolved.” Dipper smiled weakly at Sam’s reassurances. Perhaps, perhaps, he wasn’t that bad after all.

“You’re right,” Dipper shrugged. “But what could I even say to her? Where do I start?”

“’I’m sorry’ is as good a place as any,” Sam advised, removing his hand from Dipper’s shoulder. “That’s what I started with for you, and we’ve come a long way since you wanted to throw me out of a window.”

“Just be glad that there are no windows in this room,” said Dipper, smirking before taking a deep breath. “I guess I should go ahead and talk to her, huh?” he asked.

“Probably a good idea,” said Sam, walking with Dipper towards the door. “I wouldn’t want to leave her alone for too long, especially after a fight like this. She may put up a Northwest front, but she’s not as cruel on the inside.”

“I know,” smiled Dipper. “It took me a while to find that out. What are you going to be doing?”

“I’m going to head back out to the dinner party and try to do damage control,” said Sam, inhaling deeply as he psyched himself up, preparing to slip into his Southeast front for the adults. “I’ll keep them off your tail for long enough to talk with Pacifica.”

“Sam,” said Dipper, pulling his jacket tight around his shoulders and extending a hand. “I think you’re actually pretty cool. My emotions got the better of me.” Dipper was being honest with both Sam and himself.

“Well,” smiled Sam as he shook Dipper’s hand, “I’m glad you finally realized it.” He winked disarmingly—even now, he remained so effortlessly charming that it was little wonder to Dipper that he had succeeded in business. Dipper was delighted that he wasn’t competition.

Sam turned and opened the door, leading the way out. He turned and walked down the hallway to the main foyer, where Dipper had previously seen the silhouettes of Preston and Stephen. They had since left, but he could hear the constant clinking of glasses and cheerful conversation from the table—the two families celebrating their victory, no doubt.

Dipper stepped into the hallway behind Sam, watching as his slender frame vanished down the stairs, an inauthentic smile stretched across his face. Dipper took a deep breath, and turned, facing into the bowels of the Manor.

This was undeniably the route Pacifica had taken, fleeing to her room. The fresh scent of champagne and the flowers of her perfume still suffused the air, a few stray wet spots on the carpet showing where her soaked dress had continued to drip.

Dipper put his left foot forward, urging himself into motion and using his momentum to carry himself down his path, heading to Pacifica’s pink door as his mind rushed to figure out something to say. He could come up with nothing.

His breathing became shaky as he approached the final corner leading to Pacifica’s door. He wanted a plan, something with contingencies and alternate options for what to say, depending on her reactions. He wanted things certain.

But there was no certainty. He wasn’t even sure if he and Pacifica would walk out of the room as a couple. However, if she walked out alone, their ending would be a certainty.

He swallowed and, lifting his hand, rapped on the door as gently as he could. Hearing no response, he opened the knob and quietly pushed the door open, stepping inside and casting the room into the yellow light that poured in from the hallway—all of the lights within the room were off. Once inside, he closed the door behind him, the only source of light the dim moon and stars that shone in from the windows.

Pacifica sat in her window, amidst a pile of blankets and scattered books that had been knocked to the floor. Her makeup, meticulously placed and lined, ran in ugly lines down her cheeks. She had an empty box beside her, the tissues that had once been inside scattered about the floor in wadded clumps. She gazed through the glass, rimmed with frost, looking out into the night.

Dipper opened his mouth to speak. His first instinct was to ask her what she had had to drink, confirming that she wasn’t the shapeshifter. She had, after all, run away from everybody, and had been alone for quite some time. However, he could see the champagne stain on her dress, and smell it strongly in the air—the shapeshifter could replicate appearances, but not smells.

Instead, ‘I’m sorry’ was all that emerged from his mouth, taking Sam’s advice. He swallowed as Pacifica slowly turned her head to face him.

Even with her makeup running, the natural angles of her face still filled Dipper with astonishment. Her eyes were red, bloodshot with tears, the frozen blue irises popping all the more vibrantly because of it. She couldn’t look bad.

“The moon isn’t green,” she said in response, her voice cracking before drawing it back in. She looked around for a tissue, but, finding none, simply buried her head in a blanket. She could have the maid clean it later.

“It’s winter,” said Dipper, as gently as he could. “It’s all about the angle of the earth, and that changes with the seasons. It only turns to an emerald in the summer.”

“What about us, then?” Pacifica whispered. If she tried to speak normally, she would break out into sobs. “That moon was us. You showed it to me, and it changed how I looked at everything. How I looked at you. But if it’s just in the summer… are we just in the summer? Are we made for ending?” Dipper winced—he recognized that phrase. _Made for Ending_ was another song by Jukebox the Ghost, the band that they had first come together to.

“We’re more than the moon, Paz,” answered Dipper, coming to stand next to her. He sat down on the floor, back against the wall, facing away from her. “And you’re more than the moon. You’re more than I can describe.”

“But you describe everything, everything,” said Pacifica. Dipper could see her shadow, cast by the moon against the opposite wall. She moved as though she wanted to run her fingers through his hair, but drew back. “Even things that you don’t understand. You try, at least. I’ve read your journal enough to know that.”

“Then let me try,” said Dipper, closing his eyes and lolling his head back. “Your name is Pacifica Elise Northwest. Your hair is naturally blonde, and you’ve made my life better than I ever thought it could be.”

“That’s not enough for your journal,” Pacifica grunted, leaning forward and rummaging through the blankets. She felt the gentle scrape of the fabric of her bag, which she had brought back from the Shack. Pulling the zipper, she reached within it and felt for the hard spine of Dipper’s journal. She pulled it out and opened to a random page, her complex crosshatched illustrations dimly illuminated in the serene moonlight.

“Everything in here makes sense,” she said, flipping through the pages frantically. “Gnomes, dyres, crabs, starfish—they’re all scary, but I _understand_ them. They’re dangerous animals, but I can deal with that. I can read this, and _know_. It makes sense. So why doesn’t anything about us make sense?”

“I don’t think that we’re something you _can_ understand,” sighed Dipper. “You know that I want to understand everything, and I’ll stop at nothing to make that happen. I can’t explain us like I can what’s in that journal.

“But just because I can’t explain us doesn’t mean that I don’t know how I feel. Every entry in that journal took investigation and exploration to fill out. We haven’t been together for that long, but I still think that there’s so much more for us to find.” He took a deep breath.

“I hope so,” said Pacifica, rubbing her eyes, no longer caring about smearing her makeup. “Even though you’re a much better investigator than I am.”

"What makes you say that?” smiled Dipper. “You were right about what you said in the parlor. You’ve been perceptive throughout this entire ordeal. You saved me inside of Omega, and you saved all of us in the Shack. And… I’m sorry. You’re right. I haven’t been listening to you. If I had, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“There are worse places to be,” chuckled Pacifica weakly. “Trapped underground, for instance.”

“At least we’re not there,” Dipper said in response. He sighed before continuing. “I got caught up with helping Ford. I just wanted to try and do something to show that I was a worthwhile adventurer. Ever since I turned down that apprenticeship, I guess I’ve been trying to impress him as much as possible whenever we get together. And I let that get in the way of your safety. All of our safeties.”

“Do you regret turning him down?” asked Pacifica, her voice becoming stronger. They had both said that they wanted to keep exploring their relationship together, which was helping to quiet their hearts.

“Sometimes,” said Dipper, shrugging. “I think about it from time to time. If I had stayed in Gravity Falls with him, you and I could have spent more time together. But, I would have been really busy with research, so I don’t think we ever would have clicked in the first place.”

“Yeah… guys in basements don’t do it for me,” Pacifica laughed. “You don’t need to impress Ford, though. I promise that you’re a worthwhile adventurer. Better than me, at least.”

“Oh, come on,” Dipper said as he rolled his eyes. “You’ve already proven that you’re plenty quick enough. You’ve saved me so many times.”

“Well, of course I’m heroic,” grinned Pacifica. “But that’s not all there is to adventuring. You also have to document things, and I suck at that part.”

“Your drawings are good, though,” said Dipper as Pacifica started to flip through the journal Dipper had given her, turning to the pages at the end where she had taken over writing. “Can I look at the journal?”

He extended his hand for Pacifica to give him the book—but instead, she scooted up more closely against the glass of her window, inviting Dipper to sit next to her in her reading nook. Dipper looked at her eyes, but seeing nothing but a happy invitation, moved to sit next to her. As he folded his legs up, however, he took care not to get too close.

“Look at these illustrations!” Dipper praised, gently turning the pages. Pacifica had filled out a good many of them, with the drawings taking up the vast majority of the sheets. Anomalous leaves were meticulously illustrated, and the drawing of a fairy was so detailed that Dipper could see the scales on its wings.

“What is this?” he asked curiously as he turned the page, finding what appeared to be a thick cable taped to the paper. There were no illustrations or captions around it, leaving it a mystery.

“Oh,” said Pacifica, drawing back slightly, still disgusted by the object. “That’s a hair that I found on the shore of the lake. I think it came from that island creature that left the big tooth you found that first summer.”

“Wow,” Dipper breathed, reaching out to gingerly touch it. “Not even Ford’s original journals had physical samples of creatures. They were too tough to come by. This is something entirely better.”

“It was slim enough to fit in the book,” smiled Pacifica. “I thought you could analyze it, or whatever it is you two nerds do in his lab. Besides playing board games.”

“It’s mostly board games,” smirked Dipper. “You’re becoming quite the author, though.”

“No, I’m not,” said Pacifica, rolling her eyes. “There wasn’t even a caption on that thing. It was just something I taped to the page.”

“Well, maybe your descriptions could use some work,” critiqued Dipper. Pacifica laughed at the playful belittlement and leaned closer to him. Dipper’s breath hitched as he felt her rest her head on his shoulder. She was clearly very tired. “But,” Dipper continued, “I’m not just talking about the journals.

“There’s more to being a good author than just writing,” he said. Dipper closed the journal gingerly, sealing the hair within the pages and placing the book to the side. Moving his hand, he interlaced his fingers with Pacifica’s. Her pale pink nails seemed to spread a rosy hue amongst the entire reading nook.

“The most important part is telling the story that you want to tell,” he said, speaking slowly and choosing his words carefully, not wanting to disturb her. “It’s not just fiction. Living your life is telling a story, and it’s really easy to fall into the trap of telling someone else’s.

“But I think you know that already. Your parents had a story they wanted you to tell, and you said no. Even though your ancestors aren’t around anymore, their actions are still crowding you in, encouraging you to conform to their legacy.” Dipper could tell that Pacifica’s breathing had become deliberately shallower, and she was staying very still as to not interrupt him.

“And, I… I was doing the same thing,” sighed Dipper. “Because what you said was right. I was expecting something of you, because of your family’s past. Your name is intimidating—but your name is not you. And I think I’m only just now starting to understand what that means. It’s not just that you had to break free from what it condemned you to, but also knowing that you have no responsibilities _to_ it.

“Your mom, your dad, every Northwest before you. The name shaped them, but they fed the name. It was a cycle. And it’s not your job to make up for that. It’s impossible.”

“I know,” whispered Pacifica, hugging Dipper tighter. “Wendy told me that.”

“You talked with Wendy?” Dipper asked, curious. “When?”

“Last night,” sighed Pacifica. “I wanted to get to know her, and… she’s just as cool as everyone says. She’s honest. Even when it hurts.”

“Wendy…” Dipper began, his voice trailing off. “I’m sorry about that too. I’m sorry for a lot of things. I didn’t realize how much my wanting to talk to her was hurting you. If I had told you everything about her and our friendship beforehand, you would have at least known that there was nothing romantic between us.”

“Well, it’s probably good that you didn’t,” sniffled Pacifica. “If you had, I may have let you hang out with the shapeshifter alone. Still… what made you realize it?”

“Sam,” admitted Dipper. “When I saw how you had such an easy friendship with him, it burned. But not like fire—like acid. I wish you had told me about him sooner.”

“So do I,” Pacifica whispered. “I was afraid that it would make you too nervous. And you needed to focus on the shapeshifter.”

“It was a useful move at the time,” acknowledged Dipper. “But when you touched him, and joked, and laughed, and shared silverware… I was scared.”

“I was scared when you were with Wendy,” admitted Pacifica. “Candy too. And that was my fault. The idea of losing you was terrifying… and I got jealous. I’ve tried to starve my Northwest name, but I guess I haven’t done it completely.”

“There was more that I could have done to make you feel comfortable,” said Dipper. “I could have at least let you share the bed with me that first night.”

“There was more I could have done about Sam, too,” replied Pacifica. “I’ve been friends with him for so long that I guess I forgot how it would look to someone else if I touched him. Even casually, that’s still a punch." There was a pause--they had both made mistakes. They had been different errors, but all the wounds stung with the same biting sharpness.

“I really should have told you,” cursed Pacifica, berating herself. “It was easier to pretend that there wasn’t a problem than it was to sacrifice and deal with it.”

“Now tell that to your dad and get him to stop polluting the rivers,” smirked Dipper. Pacifica punched him playfully, chuckling. Speaking honestly had begun to restore the easy company between them. “We’ve both made mistakes,” Dipper sighed. There was a brief pause before either of them spoke again.

“You don’t need to be scared,” she said slowly, placing her hand on his chest. “There’s nothing between Sam and I. Never has been.”

“I know,” smiled Dipper. “Sam told me once you left. He seems like he’s actually pretty cool.”

“Not as cool as Wendy,” responded Pacifica. “But still… pretty cool. He’s just trying to keep secrets. The same as me.”

“Let’s promise to just keep secrets from your parents, though,” said Dipper, extending a pinky. “Not from each other. Not secrets, thoughts, or emotions. Never again.”

“Deal,” Pacifica said, smiling in earnest as she wrapped her finger around his, using his weight as an anchor to pull herself up, where she lightly kissed him on the cheek. Only the faintest lipstick stain transferred to his skin.

“What’s Sam doing now?” she asked, snuggling back into Dipper. “He’s not sitting out in the hall, is he?”

“I don’t think so,” laughed Dipper. “He said that he was going to distract the adults while we talked.”

“We should probably go save him, then,” groaned Pacifica. “I don’t want to leave him out there for too long.”

“Neither do I,” said Dipper, grunting as he swung his legs back over the floor and stood up. Turning around, he offered a hand to Pacifica, who he helped to her feet. “But, before we go on our rescue mission, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Pacifica looked down at herself, only now seeming to realize the catastrophic effect that the champagne spill had had on her dress, and that the subsequent cascade of tears had upon her makeup.

“Aw,” she said, disappointed. “I really liked this dress.”

“I’m sure that some dry cleaning will fix it right up,” said Dipper, pulling Pacifica into a hug beside him as they walked to the bathroom. “Let’s just make sure you’re comfortable.”

Pacifica flipped the lights on as they entered the bathroom. Dipper had seen it before, but was continually impressed by the sheer size of it.

“Oh, wait,” said Pacifica, sticking her tongue out between her teeth as she lifted her right foot, undoing the strap on her heel as she pulled her foot out. As she stood back up fully, feeling the warmth of the heated tiles sooth her aching muscles, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Much better.”

As she took her other shoe off, Dipper opened a drawer and fumbled about for a cleansing cloth. Pacifica had hundreds, so they were relatively easy to find.

Pacifica walked over to him, unsure of what to do next. Dipper, a sly look in his eyes, bent over and picked her up, causing her to yelp in surprise as he set her down on the counter.

“That was fun,” she breathed heavily as Dipper tore open the small plastic packet and unfolded the single-use cloth within it.

“Close your eyes,” said Dipper as he stepped forward. “I don’t want to accidentally blind you.”

“Such a gentleman,” smiled Pacifica, lowering her head slightly as Dipper wiped the makeup from her face.

Slowly, the blush and foundation were cleared away, revealing the natural pale pink of her skin. Her eye shadow, which ran in dark rivers down her cheeks, was cleansed. Her eyes were still reddened from crying, but she now looked far more like herself.

“Ahh,” she sighed as Dipper wadded up the cloth and threw it away. “I feel like I can move my face again.” As she spoke, she crinkled her nose and wiggled her ears.

“I didn’t know you could wiggle your ears,” commented Dipper cheerfully.

“Another one of my many hidden talents,” Pacifica smirked as she hopped off of the counter. Reaching down and grabbing the skirt of her dress, she quickly pulled it up and over her head.

“Woah!” said Dipper, quickly turning around and facing the other way as Pacifica exposed her chest. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

“Come on,” snorted Pacifica as she walked over to her shower and grabbed a washcloth, lathering it up with her normal soap. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Besides, you were the one who spilled champagne on me. This is your fault.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” acknowledged Dipper, throwing his hands up. “I don’t suppose you need any help, then?”

“Get out,” laughed Pacifica. “You may still be my boyfriend, but we’re not back there yet. I’ll be done in a minute.”

“Fine, fine,” Dipper replied, carefully turning around and walking sideways, avoiding peeping as best he could until he was out of the bathroom. Hearing the door close behind him, he walked over to Pacifica’s reading nook, where his old journal sat face up.

He hadn’t lied about her authorship. She wasn’t bad, at all. You could actually tell more from her illustrations than you could from most of the writings.

Dipper thought back to the brown paper package in his luggage back at the Mystery Shack. Amidst all of the confusion, he had almost forgotten that it was actually Christmas Eve. Tomorrow was Christmas. A grin spread across his face, which he was unable to wipe away.

Behind him, he heard a door open. He turned around, seeing Pacifica emerge from her bathroom with a towel wrapped around her.

“Come on, Dipstick,” she said, gesturing with her head. “I need you to help me pick out another dress so we can survive the rest of this party.”

“Are you sure you want to go back to that train wreck?” asked Dipper whiningly, though he was perfectly sincere. “We could go back to the Mystery Shack for the night.”

“Why would we do that?” Pacifica asked, rolling her eyes. “It’s going to be chaos, with all of the people there. They’ll either be preparing for the shapeshifter mission, or tending to Stan and Waddles. And you’ll probably get distracted by Ford again,” she continued dejectedly.

“I promise I won’t,” said Dipper, stepping up to her. “And as far as everyone being there, that’s exactly why we _should_ go back. Mabel’s going to be so distracted with Waddles that she’ll easily stay out of the attic. We could actually spend the night together for once.”

“Are you sure that your arm is up for it?” Pacifica asked, glancing up and down. “I don’t want to have to drive through the woods late at night unless I can expect all of you.” She was unable to conceal her smile, eager at the possibility. She had denied Dipper earlier, with thoughts of their argument and the party still on her mind, but the Shack was a different situation entirely.

“I think I’m more than up for it,” replied Dipper, stepping up to her and kissing her on the forehead. “Besides, after the past two nights, I think I owe you.”

“Well, you’re right about that,” smiled Pacifica. There was a brief pause as she considered Dipper’s proposal.

“Fine,” she finally announced, a mirrored smile on both of their faces. “You go back to McGucket’s wing and get changed. I’ll get dressed here, and then we’ll come up with some excuse to slip away.”

“Deal,” smiled Dipper, bending down to her face as she stood on her tiptoes. For a brief moment, their lips were pressed tight against each other, but each of them soon pulled back. They couldn’t afford to get too flustered yet, and they needed to save their energy for the Shack.

Dipper walked to her door, turning around one more time before exiting into the hallway.

“No peeking!” she called to him as she entered her closet. “I’ve got something new to show you.”

Dipper smiled at his girlfriend. He didn’t like surprises, but she had merely said ‘new.’ New was good.

He couldn’t wait to see.


	23. Crack

“Pacifica!” hiccupped Priscilla, who sat reclined in a chair that had been moved by the party staff into the main foyer. In the teenagers’ absence, the adults had finished dinner and had the dishes cleared away. They had then migrated into a circle of large, cushioned cloth chairs that sat next to the Christmas tree. “What happened to your lovely dress? I thought the color scheme went very well with Sam’s.”

Pacifica rolled her eyes as she entered the room, knowing that her parents would likely remember nothing about this tomorrow morning. As tempting as it was to take the opportunity to let her tongue loose, she decided to play it safe.

“It’s hanging up in my room, mom,” Pacifica answered. It wasn’t technically a lie. “Now that dinner’s over, I’m going to go with Dipper back to the Mystery Shack.”

Pacifica had slipped into a much more comfortable set of clothes. She wore a pale blue dress with a short skirt, only flaring down to her knees. The dress lacked sleeves, so she had paired it with a thin white jacket. She had traded the complex braid in her hair for a simple bun, and removed the golden earrings that had contrasted with her eyes.

She also wore a shorter set of heels—if she had emerged from the back of the Manor wearing anything less fancy, her mother likely would have commanded her to go change. Even these heels were uncomfortable, however—she had a pair of flat shoes, along with Dipper’s journal, the welding googles, and a set of pajamas in the white bag slung over her shoulder.

“WHat?” stormed Preston. He started off loudly, but his voice soon dropped off as he ran out of energy. “How dare you sneak away from us! And with eligible Sam here, no less! You’re mocking him!”

Sam also sat in the circle of drunk adults, clearly the most alert among them. Phoebe and Penelope, older as they were, had passed out in their chairs. Simon, who had stolen his mother’s phone, was tapping on it frantically from the opposite corner.

Sam shrugged as Pacifica made eye contact with him. He had rejoined the party, and appeared to have effectively kept them distracted. Given that the adults were barely coordinated enough to move, it hadn’t been that difficult of a task.

“Dad, I left my Tesla at the Shack this morning,” Pacifica announced clearly. “I’m going to go get it back, and then hang out with Mabel.” She didn’t need to specify that she was planning on spending the night, since both Preston and Priscilla would likely pass out soon, and not wake up until the sun was high in the sky.

“Oh, well… I guess you can go get your car,” replied Preston, hanging his head over the back of his chair. “Who’s driving you?”

“I told you, dad,” Pacifica reiterated. His memory was clearly impaired. “Dipper. He drove me up here in his truck, so it only makes sense that he takes me back.”

“Why don’t you take Samuel with you?” chuckled Stephen. “You could-you could have a jolly old time in that car of his!” Both Preston and Stephen burst out laughing.

“Dad, my car’s back in Charleston,” Sam replied calmly. “We hired a driver once we got up here.”

“Why, the boy’s right!” bragged Stephen. “It completely slipped my mind. Smarter than his father already!”

“What’s going on here?” whispered Dipper into Pacifica’s ear, emerging from the back of the manor. He was wearing his normal clothes again—jeans, coupled with a t-shirt and his green fleece jacket.

He was tempted to reach out and grab Pacifica’s hand, but knew that any overt sign of affection would be met with hostility by the adults. Neither Dipper nor Pacifica was sure if Sam had told them what had transpired in the parlor.

“Oh, hello Dipper,” said Sam, standing up and walking over to the base of the stairs. As he moved, Dipper and Pacifica descended to meet him. “I’ve truly enjoyed getting to meet you tonight. I find your charity work for this little town… _inspiring._ ”

Dipper was shocked at the tone in Sam’s voice. It dripped with venom and belittlement even more intensely than before. He had thought that he and Sam had made some progress, but even if Sam was acting for the adults, this seemed excessive. He glanced over to the circle of chairs; Sophia unable to keep her loud snickering inside of her wineglass.

“And I’m certain that Dipper finds your business success impressive as well,” replied Pacifica loudly, making sure that the adults could hear her. “Sam, it has been a pleasure to spend time with you, as always.” As she spoke, she extended her hand, which Sam took in his and kissed lightly. Letting go, Sam then turned and led the way to the door.

“Dipper, come on, let’s go,” Pacifica beckoned, forging ahead to the door before Dipper could say anything. Dipper, unable to think of anything else to do, followed her loyally.

Just before they exited, however, Dipper reached out and grabbed Pacifica’s arm. Not expecting it, she quickly stepped backwards, turning to face Dipper with a worried expression.

“What is it?” she asked, panicked at his sudden stop.

“Nothing scary,” said Dipper, trying to reassure her. “You just don’t have your goggles on, and we’re about to go back outside.”

“Dipper,” Pacifica sighed. “Do you really think I need them? I mean, it’s night outside, and I’m not going to be able to see once we get away from the Manor’s lights. I don’t think that the shapeshifter has been waiting just outside my door this entire time.”

“I’m sure that you’re right,” Dipper said, consolingly. “But all it takes is for it to get one good look at you, and then it can imitate you _perfectly_. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Pacifica looked at him pleadingly—the googles were really uncomfortable. But, seeing the worry in his expression, she resigned herself and undid the zipper on her bag.

“What did you have to drink?” she asked as she pulled out the goggles and pulled them down over her icy blue eyes. The room immediately grew darker as she winced, feeling the pressure from the bands bearing down into her skin.

“Champagne,” replied Dipper, a smile growing on his face. “But also not champagne, and just water.”

“Good,” said Pacifica, zipping her bag back up and turning around.

“Priscilla,” they could hear Sophia whisper from behind them as they walked out, “what on earth is your daughter wearing? I think her fashion sense is almost as bad as her taste in men!”

Neither Dipper nor Pacifica turned around, not justifying the comment with a response. Dipper could hear one final burst of drunker laughter from inside before Sam closed the front door behind them—apparently Priscilla was too far gone to recognize that she ought to defend her daughter.

“I’m sorry about what I said just then, Dipper,” offered Sam, rubbing the back of his head. “The more out of it they get, the more dramatic you have to be to live up to their expectations. I do genuinely like the work you’re doing here, though. And that’s not sarcasm! That’s legitimate admiration.” Sam laughed.

“Whew,” said Dipper, holding his hand to his chest. “I thought you had just decided to be as annoying as possible.”

“That’s your job, doofus,” said Pacifica, rocking into Dipper with her hips. He smiled in response. Things were good.

“No, no,” continued Sam, responding to Dipper. “That’s why I came out onto this desolate porch with you. To say legitimate goodbyes.” He shivered as a brisk wind whistled around the corner of the Manor, eating through the thin fabrics he wore. Pacifica shook as well, seeking shelter as she huddled close behind Dipper. Only Dipper, wearing his fleece jacket, was warm.

The snow had stopped the previous evening, and the roads had largely been plowed and salted. However, since Dipper and Pacifica had first entered the Manor in the early afternoon, the wind had picked back up. Occasional droplets of water fell through the air, impacting the frozen concrete and pavement and almost immediately turning into ice.

“Legitimately, Dipper,” began Sam, extending his hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, and see the man good enough for Pacifica.” Dipper blushed, while Pacifica’s cheeks turned red from the abrasive force of the howling wind.

“You too, Sam,” said Dipper, accepting the handshake. “I look forward to the next time we get to play chess.”

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” replied Sam wilily. “I’m definitely going to refresh myself on the strategy book before our next match.”

“We’ll see,” Dipper said, sticking his hands into his insulated pockets.

“And as for you, Pacifica,” Sam said, turning to face her. “First off, I love the googles. Excellent fashion choice.”

“They’re the latest in anti-shapeshifter technology,” Pacifica laughed, already reaching up to adjust them.

“Top dollar,” sighed Sam. “But really, I’m sorry that things happened tonight the way they did. If I had known—”

“Don’t even start,” Pacifica cut him off. “What happened was my fault. Let’s just… try to get past it. And don’t mention it to your parents.”

“Oh, don’t worry!” Sam laughed. “I’m not crazy.” Pacifica smiled in response and extended her arms. Sam stepped forward and wrapped her in a quick hug.

Dipper stood there, placidly. It was amazing how an action that previously would have filled him with rage was completely negated, with just a little more context.

“I guess I’ll see you at the Fourth of July Party?” asked Sam, stepping back.

“Hopefully!” smiled Pacifica, shivering again and drawing her jacket more closely around herself. “I’ll try to convince my parents to let me bring Dipper too.”

“Well, if you need a little extra cash for a plane ticket, I’ve got plenty laying around,” quipped Sam.

“Samuel,” Pacifica began, rolling her eyes. “Look at who you’re talking to. I’m a Northwest.”

“And I’m a Southeast,” Sam fired back.

“The rivalry continues,” smiled Pacifica.

“That it does,” returned Sam, before stepping back and grabbing ahold of the knob. Waving goodbye, Dipper and Pacifica turned in unison and began making their way down the stairs.

“And hey!” Sam called out from behind them. “Be safe on the roads out there tonight. From what I heard from the weird guy on the radio, there’s a decent chance of freezing rain.”

Dipper raised up a single hand, indicating that he had heard and appreciated the warning. As the door to the Manor closed behind Sam, Dipper was caught off guard as Pacifica leapt up and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him.

He grabbed her waist and pulled her in closer, breathing deeply before they parted.

“What was that for?” he asked, a dreamy smile on his face.

“I don’t know,” grinned Pacifica. “Something about the way you put your hand up. It was so… confidently masculine.”

“Well, you do bring out that side of me,” laughed Dipper as he felt Pacifica shake in his arms. Looking down at her, he could see her jaw quivering in the cold. “Come on,” he continued, taking her by the arm. “Let’s get you in Francine before you freeze to death.”

Pacifica nodded in appreciation as Dipper turned and led the way to his truck, reaching into his pocket and drawing out the keys. Francine sat by the side of the house, exactly where she had been left. A thin layer of ice covered almost the entire truck, but it fell away in large panels as Dipper opened the passenger door and ushered Pacifica into the cab.

It seemed colder inside the truck than it did outside—but that quickly changed as Dipper climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the key, the engine roaring to life. A blast of air, cool at first, but soon delightfully warm, began to pour into the cabin from the vents. Slowly, Pacifica felt her muscles relaxing as she leaned back into the seat.

Her eyes began to adjust to the dim lighting in the truck, barely able to make things out through the heavily shaded googles. Turning her head, though, she noticed that Dipper was staring at her.

“What?” she asked, smiling.

“Nothing,” he replied, shaking his head as he looked forward, activating the wipers and clearing away enough of the accumulated ice to begin moving. “I just enjoy looking at you. It reminds me that you’re real. And that I still have you.”

“You have me as much as I want to give myself to you,” corrected Pacifica.

“Oh, of course,” acknowledged Dipper. Placing his hand on the back of Pacifica’s seat, he looked over his shoulder and reversed the truck. “It’s a purely figurative ownership.”

“Yeah, well,” smirked Pacifica. “You’re just lucky that I want you to have me.” Francine slowly jerked into motion—a result of both the ice on the driveway, and the sudden jerk of Dipper’s leg at her comment.

Francine’s headlights illuminated the snowy forest as they descended through the Northwest gates and down onto the asphalt roads of the valley, the defroster working as hard as it could to keep the windshield clear and free of ice crystals. Pacifica could barely see through her goggles, but the reflection from the snow in front of Francine shone bright enough that she was able to peer slightly into the forest.

“Dipper,” Pacifica began, eyes scanning in between the bars of shadow cast by the pines. “Do you really think that the shapeshifter is still out there?”

Dipper didn’t respond for a moment, seemingly lost in thought as he steered Francine around a curve. Like always, he took the time to think before coming back with a response.

“I do,” he sighed, voice full of worry. “Even though Ford stabbed it with the neuron poison, it knew exactly what to do to keep itself from getting fully destroyed. It’s probably huddled up against the wall of a building somewhere, trying to absorb what heat it can and keep from freezing through.”

Pacifica shook her head, before wincing—another lance of pain had shot up from her right foot. It seemed like the shorter heels she had picked to stay decently fancy were actually tighter and more difficult to wear than the silver ones had been.

Now free from her parents’ expectations, she propped her feet up on Francine’s dashboard, pulling the heels off with a grunt and tucking them back into her bag. She wiggled her toes as she reached deeper into the bag, trying to find the comfier pair that she had brought along.

“Do you think that we’ll be able to find it?” she asked, fumbling through the bundle of her clothes. Wearing the welding goggles, she had to rely solely on touch to find her shoes—they were apparently deeper down than she had thought.

“Oh, definitely,” said Dipper, with an enthusiasm that Pacifica found incredibly reassuring. “There are only so many places that it can hide, after all, and Ford’s got the tech to scour the entire valley. It can turn into any rock, tree or deer that it wants. We’ll find it eventually, since we know that it can’t escape the confines of the Gravity Well.”

“So long as we keep it out of the basement, that is,” corrected Pacifica, growing frustrated at her inability to find her shoes. She started to reach up to move her googles, for just long enough to search her bag.

“I don’t think that’ll be too hard,” replied Dipper, nodding his head. “After all, it doesn’t know SHIT!”

A loud cracking echoed through the forest, the snapping of a whip and the booming of a cannon wrapped into a single explosively percussive sound. The goggles snapped back down over Pacifica’s eyes as she sat back up, choking as Dipper slammed on the brakes and the strap of her seatbelt bit into her neck. 

Pacifica’s head whipped around, trying to see what was happening as the truck started to spin, Dipper locking the wheel all the way to the left. A vicious squealing could be heard as the tires skidded across the pavement, sending an acrid cloud of smoke into the air.

A second thunderous sound spread through the air, this time a hollow thud—Pacifica’s eyes focused on motion outside the truck window, just in time to see a large tree crash to the pavement, splitting in two upon impact with the asphalt.

"Dipper!” Pacifica screamed as he transferred both feet to the brakes—however, by this point, nothing could stop the momentum of the truck. Both teens watched in slow motion horror as Francine slammed into the tree, the driver’s side paneling crunching and crushing in upon impact.

The cab of the truck rocked back and forth as they came to a standstill—Francine’s headlights were the only source of illumination, pointing off into the woods, the trees becoming murkier and murkier as they receded in natural rows into the distance.

Pacifica immediately patted herself down, verifying that she had so wounds or broken bones—she was rattled, but intact. None of the airbags had deployed, so the damage must not have been as bad as it had felt. Her thoughts then immediately turned to Dipper, who had been much closer to the point of impact.

“Dipper, are you okay?” she asked, turning to look at her boyfriend.

His skin was pale white, all of the blood having drained from his face in petrifying fear. His hands were locked tight around the steering wheel, immobilizing it. His feet were still planted on the brake. Still, as Pacifica looked him over, she could see no immediate damage.

“Dipper?” she asked again, louder this time. His head quickly turned to look at her as his breathing resumed rapidly. “Are you good?”

“Not really!” Dipper yelped, his voice higher than Pacifica had heard it in years. He shook his head, trying to restore some semblance of comprehension to his brain.

“What happened?” he asked, looking around confusedly.

“I think a tree… exploded?” offered Pacifica, leaning over to look in Dipper’s side view mirror. The long trunk of the tree vanished into the darkness behind the red rear lights of the truck. “Can you open your door?” she asked, prompting Dipper into action.

“I think so,” he replied, reaching for his door handle. He struggled with it for a moment, but soon heard the distinctive click as the door released and swung open. If the locking mechanism had been damaged by the impact, it hadn’t been that catastrophic.

Dipper reached over and pressed a red triangular button, turning on his hazard lights and casting the scene in alternating pulses of shadow and dim crimson light. He stepped out onto the road, reaching into his jacket for his phone and turning on the flashlight.

Slowly, he inched his way in between the rough, fragmented bark of the tree and the crumpled metal of Francine’s paneling. All he knew was that there had been an explosive crack, and then everything had gone crazy. He shivered as a gust of wind blew down the road.

On the other side of the truck, he heard the click of Pacifica’s door as she stepped out and onto the asphalt. Turning his head, he saw the wave of her hair as she started to walk around the back of the truck.

“Wha-!” he heard her shout, followed by a thud as she fell to the ground.

“Pacifica, are you good?” he called out over his shoulder. “There’s probably ice. Be careful.”

After a few moments, however, he hadn’t heard a response. With a final grunting effort, he squeezed between Francine and the trunk of the tree, stepping out behind his truck. He walked around to the passenger side, just in time to see an out-of-breath Pacifica struggle to her feet, holding onto the tire as she did so.

“Are you good?” he asked, concerned. “Did you not hear me call for you?”

“What?” she asked, looking around as she tried to see through the shades of the googles. “Sorry, no. It’s pretty windy out here. I missed it.” As though to echo her words, a powerful gust hurtled down the road, breaking with a frosty chill against the fallen tree.

“Sure…” Dipper said, sidling back over behind the truck. He wanted to have access to the cab if something was wrong. “What did you have to drink?” he asked, pointedly.

“Champagne,” Pacifica replied confidently. “And it was quite good,” she followed up with a smile. Dipper relaxed—she had passed.

“So, you said that you think a tree exploded?” Dipper asked, shining his flashlight around the dimly lit scene.

“Well, there were two sounds,” said Pacifica, stumbling as she tried to follow the light of Dipper’s phone. Dipper reached out and supported her with his arm, which she took gratefully. “And the second one was definitely the tree falling down. So something had to make it fall in the first place.”

“You’re right,” said Dipper, shining the flashlight at the roadway and looking at the spiraling skid marks that the tires had left on the pavement.

Because of the spinning, Francine had been lucky enough to impact the tree with her rear left corner first, keeping the inhabitants of the cabin safe and the internal mechanisms undamaged. Francine was a hardy truck, and was still more than capable of driving, even if she was a little less pretty.

“But what could cause a tree to explode?” asked Dipper, mostly to himself as he shone his light down the length of the trunk. Treading carefully, making sure not to slip on any of the patches of black ice that were rapidly forming as a result of the water draining from the trunk, he crept to the base of the tree.

It was even more confusing at this end. Half of the tree looked like it had been cleanly chopped, like a lumberjack started the job, but then didn’t finish it. The remaining half was jagged and burst, wood fibers gnarled and twisted amongst each other.

Several holes had been bored into the broken part, as though worms had eaten through and structurally weakened it. Dipper ran his hands over the wood, drawing back when he felt the sharpness of the fragments left behind—he wasn’t fond of splinters.

“Maybe it was the cold?” Pacifica suggested. “Water expands when it freezes into ice. If a lumberjack got halfway through cutting this tree and then abandoned it for some reason, the temperature inside the tree would fall much faster than normal. The water inside would expand, and then… crack.”

“That’s one explanation,” said Dipper, moving his flashlight from the ragged trunk to the woods around them. “Still, I think there are others that we should be worried about,” he continued warily. Quickly, he turned around and ushered Pacifica back towards the truck.

“Come on,” he said, urging her forwards. “This is freaking me out. Let’s get out of here before anything else happens.”

“Is the truck still good to drive?” she asked, eyeing it up and down skeptically.

“Francine hasn’t let me down yet!” Dipper proclaimed, squeezing back between the trunk and the crumpled paneling to reach the driver’s seat.

Dipper hadn’t cut the engine off, keeping the interior of the truck warm as they had explored the site of the wreck. As he shifted Francine into drive, she only groaned slightly as the axles began to turn—she ran just fine.

“How do we get around this tree, though?” Dipper mumbled to himself as he looked to his left. The trunk was long enough to cover the entire roadway.

“If you think Francine can handle it,” Pacifica offered, “there’s enough space between those trees on the other side to squeeze through.”

“Good eyes, Paz!” Dipper praised as he shifted into four wheel drive, urging Francine off of the asphalt and into the snow.

Thankfully, the snow had not piled up too deeply within the forest, much of it having been caught by the canopy of spreading branches overhead. The ground was frozen solid—Francine didn’t even stutter once as Dipper drove into the trees, both he and Pacifica bouncing in their seats as the tires rolled over prominent roots.

Reaching the tip of the fallen tree, Dipper turned left and around the trunk, facing back towards the road and charging forwards to return to the asphalt. With a groan, Francine slid back onto the road and began to gain speed, Dipper applying more gas as they rushed together towards the Mystery Shack.

“That was scary,” Dipper hissed from between his teeth. “I’m sorry. I should have been paying more attention to the road.”

“Well, a tree exploded,” laughed Pacifica. “There’s only so much you can do to prepare for that. I think you handled it very well.” As she spoke, she bent over and continued rummaging in her bag.

“Thanks,” sighed Dipper, relaxing in his seat, pleased to be moving again. “I can’t wait to get back to the Shack. It’s going to be so much safer there.”

“I can’t wait either,” Pacifica whispered, leaning over to Dipper. She had put a seductive tone in her voice, but Dipper stayed focused on the road in front of them. He wanted to pay diligent attention to the road to avoid another mishap—and he knew that if he looked at Pacifica, he wouldn’t want to look away, even though she was wearing the welding goggles.

After a few minutes more of driving, the yellow lights of the Mystery Shack could be seen glimmering through the trees. Dipper pulled to a stop in front of the porch, next to Soos’s truck. The Stanleymobile sat on the other side of the parking lot, beside two silver trucks. One of them had a broken window, and one did not. By now, all of the vehicles were covered in at least a half inch of ice, the melting snow dripping from the trees above refreezing on the smooth metal.

“Come on,” said Dipper eagerly. “Let’s get inside. And then go upstairs.”

“One step at a time,” Pacifica smiled. “We’ll get there soon enough. Let’s make sure that everything is still fine inside.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” acknowledged Dipper. “I’m just excited.”

“So am I,” Pacifica replied, both of them opening their doors and stepping out into the snow. As they stepped onto the porch, Dipper wiped his feet on the mat, while Pacifica stomped hers, clearing the snow from the tread on her shoes.

Dipper raised his hand to knock on the door, but paused.

“Pacifica?” he asked, turning to face her. “If it’s okay with you, could we not mention the tree thing tonight? I’d rather take Ford and investigate that in the morning than try to deal with it tonight.”

“But I was just so excited to tell them about it!” scoffed Pacifica sarcastically. “Don’t worry,” she continued earnestly. “The secret’s safe with me.”

Smiling, Dipper returned and knocked on the door. They heard a rustle from inside as everyone assumed their defensive positions. Dipper looked for the telltale movement of the curtain, wondering whose face was going to peek through to check this time.

Seeing a flash of red, he recognized Wendy’s deliberate movements as she quickly scanned the two up and down. Dipper, knowing where to look to see her, made eye contact and smiled. Wendy rolled her eyes in response, returning the curtain to its resting position.

A long series of clicking and snapping sounds began as the metal locks securing the door in place were removed, allowing Wendy to open the door and usher the two of them inside.

Dipper shuddered slightly as he stepped back inside the Shack, feeling the burst of roaring heat from the fire as Wendy closed and sealed the door behind them. Dipper took a step forward, about to enter the living room. As he did so, however, he paused as he felt the bite of a sharp metallic blade against his back.

“Not yet, Dipper,” said Wendy from behind him. She was certainly the real Wendy—she wore a pattern of dusky yellow and black plaid that the shapeshifter couldn’t possibly have seen her in before, and her hair was cropped short around her neck. “You still have to be verified,” Wendy continued. “Mabel, go get Ford to do the blood test.”

Mabel, who had been sitting next to Stan’s chair in the living room, immediately obeyed the command, standing up and rushing into the gift shop. Pacifica watched her as she ran.

“There’s no need, Mabel!” Dipper called out, reaching behind him to touch the sharp point of Wendy’s axe, which she held at the ready. With a wince, he forced the tip of his ring finger down over the metallic blade, a drop of blood running down the edge.

“Dipper’s clean!” announced Wendy to the room, removing the axe from his back and turning to Pacifica. Mabel, hearing Wendy’s voice, poked her head back into the living room and looked towards the main entrance—she hadn’t made it all the way to the lab.

“Your turn,” Wendy announced, offering Pacifica the blade.

“On your axe?” scoffed Pacifica. “No way. I don’t know where that thing’s been. Plus, my nails are pristine. I don’t want to risk ruining them.”

“If you won’t do it, I can plant this axe in your chest and we’ll see how much you bleed then,” Wendy menaced. Pacifica shrank back, terrified.

“Jesus, Wendy,” said Dipper, stepping between them and gently lowering the axe. “There’s no need for that. Pacifica’s clean. I verified her myself, and she hasn’t been out of my sight since.”

“Are you absolutely sure?” she asked, leaning in and looking at Pacifica closely.

“Yes,” Dipper answered, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure.”

With a quick movement, Wendy lifted her axe and spun it around. Pacifica flinched as the blade fell back down, squarely into the sheath that Wendy kept hanging from her belt. She released a massive breath in relief.

“I’m still not sure about her,” Wendy said, turning around and walking into the kitchen to sit at the table, resuming her post as lookout. “But I know you’re clean, and I trust you. And I’ve been dealing with a lot trying to keep this place secure, so maybe I’m a little fried.” She bent her head forward, closing her eyes as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“You can get some rest,” Dipper offered, kindly. “We’re back now. There are more than enough hands on deck.”

"Yeah, but they’re not my hands,” replied Wendy, removing the axe from its sheath and placing it on the kitchen table. Dipper, unsure of anything he could say to reassure her, simply turned and entered the living room, Pacifica following close behind.

The living room was in a state of chaos—it was clean chaos, the room having been thoroughly scoured since the shapeshifter attack, but it was chaos nonetheless.

The floor jack still sat in the center of the room, the log resting on it supporting the rest of the room’s frame. Around the exposed wall supports, where the scored marks from the shapeshifter’s attack could still be seen, Soos had constructed a series of interconnected wooden triangles, taking weight off of the crippled wood.

Stan sat in his chair, passed out in his tank top and underwear. His fez was perched on the back of his chair, hanging at a slight angle. Color had returned to his cheeks, and he snored loudly—he was clearly having no trouble breathing, despite the bandages wrapped around his torso. The two empty Pitt cans on the floor and the stains of cheese dust on the white of his shirt showed that he had been eating and drinking in plenty of comfort. Across from him, the black and white period piece old lady boring movie channel was gently blaring on the television.

Next to Stan’s chair was Mabel’s mattress, which she had pulled down from the attic to keep in the center of the house. This way, she could stay next to Waddles and the rest of the family at all times.

On top of the mattress was a pile of sweaters approximately two feet deep, consisting of almost the entirety of Mabel’s wardrobe. At the top of the mountain was a small crater that Waddles sat nestled in, his face buried in the knit fabric. His wound appeared unchanged, still covered by the white bandage. He was still asleep—however, his breathing seemed easier, and every so often he would let out a feeble snort that showed he was dreaming.

Mabel had pulled a chair from the living room table over to the mattress, and had a supply station for herself there—a clear bottle full of Mabel juice and a plastic bucket of cheese balls. The small tube of burn medication that Dr. Louis had given her was already half empty.

Mabel didn’t say a word as she reentered the room from the gift shop, simply walking up to Dipper and throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. Her eyes were a bloodshot red, rubbed raw from crying and from sleeplessness. Dipper stroked her hair and rocked back and forth as she choked back a sob, tears absorbing into his jacket. Pacifica stood awkwardly to the side.

Soos and Melody made defeated eye contact with Dipper, looking up to meet his gaze. They both sat at the living room table, looking over blueprints that were splayed out upon it, the curled corners weighted down with Soos’s new bobbleheads. They had changed out of their battle outfits and now wore normal clothes, though Soos still had his bat nearby, and Ford’s gifted pistol remained strapped to Melody’s side.

Wendy, who remained sitting at the kitchen table, peeked in occasionally. She picked up her axe and put it back down, unsure of how she wanted to keep it.

“How are things?” Dipper whispered as quietly as he could, trying not to wake Stan. It would have taken a freight train to rouse him, but Dipper still wanted to be polite.

“Not great, dudes,” answered Soos. “I mean, the Shack is secure, but everyone’s pretty frazzled.” Melody reached over and scratched him on the head, which he responded to with a smile and a heavy purr.

“Is Ford working on the weirdness detectors?” Dipper asked, gesturing with his head towards the gift shop.

“That’s what he told me,” confirmed Soos as Dipper rocked back and forth, still holding Mabel in his arms. “He said it would take until tomorrow afternoon, though.”

“We can at least go down and check up on him,” said Pacifica, reaching out and taking Dipper’s hand. As she stepped forwards to pull him along into the gift shop, however, Dipper pulled her back.

“Not now,” Dipper whispered into her ear, trying to keep Mabel from hearing. “You were right when you told me that I needed to focus less on Ford. He can wait. What matters to me right now is you.” Pacifica smiled and leaned in, hugging his arm in response.

“Are you sure?” she asked, squeezing his hand. “I know you still want to make sure that Ford’s okay.”

“He’s fine,” shrugged Dipper. “He’s down in his lab doing whatever he wants. And I want to go upstairs and do whatever you want.” Pacifica blushed, a vibrantly intense red accompanied by the tint of the goggles, which were still strapped to her face.

“You can go ahead and go upstairs,” continued Dipper. “Change if you like, and take the goggles off. You deserve a break too. I’ll be up in a little bit.” With that, he let go of Pacifica’s hand.

She stood there, unsure of what to do. A quick nod of Dipper’s head, however, urged her to head towards the stairs. As she walked past the kitchen, Wendy followed her precisely with her eyes, tracking the blonde’s every movement.

Pacifica became so caught up in the intensity of Wendy’s glare that she missed the first step, accidently stumbling before she could catch her balance. Wendy’s eyes narrowed. Pacifica, sighing, simply continued up the stairs. Once on the second floor, she immediately headed for the twins’ room with her bag slung over her shoulder.

“Mabel?” Dipper asked, slowly loosening her arms from around his neck and lifting her away. His hands were firmly gripped around her shoulders, keeping her supported.

“Huh?” she stammered, confused and bleary-eyed. “What’s going on?” She had apparently fallen asleep standing up, her emotional exhaustion catching up to her the moment she decided to slow down for a hug. Her sweater, the same one that she had been wearing yesterday, smelled slightly of sweat and sugar.

“You need to go to bed is what’s going on,” laughed Dipper lightly, ushering her over to her mattress. Despite Waddles’s mountain of sweaters, there was still plenty of room for her to curl up and try to make up for lost sleep.

“Dipper?” Mabel asked again, still out of it. “You’re back. How was the party?” She yawned as she spoke, desperately wanting to be interested but unable to sustain the exertion.

“It was… intense,” answered Dipper thoughtfully. “Yeah… I think ‘intense’ is the word.”

“I’ve had enough intense for a while,” Mabel mumbled, not even fighting as Dipper gently set her down next to the sweater pile. Stan snorted loudly, causing Mabel to briefly start awake—though her eyelids soon fluttered down again.

“So have I,” whispered Dipper, draping one of the largest sweaters over Mabel’s body. “So have I.” Almost as soon as she was covered, the gentle whistle of Mabel’s breathing joined the thunderous chorus of Stan’s.

“I think I’m going to turn in,” announced Dipper, walking over to Soos and Melody, who had been whispering to each other. Melody, holding a sharp pencil, was making markings on the blueprints.

“Sounds good, dude,” replied Soos, giving him a thumbs up. “We’ll hold down the fort here.”

“We’ll need to sleep tomorrow, though, so try and get your rest,” Melody followed, looking up at Dipper severely. He nodded in agreement.

Turning around, Dipper saw the remote resting on the arm of Stan’s chair. Picking it up, he turned and muted the television, though he left it on. Mabel, Stan, and Waddles would be able to sleep much easier now. If Stan woke up and wanted to watch a rerun, he would just have to read the subtitles.

Dipper walked past the stairs and up the front door, checking to make sure that all of the locks were in place. He turned and made eye contact with Wendy, who nodded gravely. The bags under her eyes seemed even more intense than they had when Dipper and Pacifica had first arrived.

Dipper spun around and looked back into the living room. It was still chaos, but it was quiet and restful chaos. The interior of the gift shop was dark—he briefly considered going down and talking to Ford, just to get a status update on the teleportation engine and weirdness detection equipment recalibration.

Then, he remembered what Pacifica had said back in the Manor. He had jeopardized both his life and the lives of his family, and almost lost his relationship with Pacifica, all in an attempt to impress Ford.

Ford could wait. Right now, Dipper knew what he wanted to do, and who he wanted to spend time with. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he advanced up the stairs to the attic, a stupidly happy grin spread across his face.


	24. Eyes

Dipper closed the door behind him with a creak as he stepped into the attic room. Mabel’s bed was disheveled, clothes and art supplies scattered about from the effort of moving her mattress downstairs.

The room was dark, the overhead lights having been turned off. The only source of illumination was the moon, which shone through the triangular window and cast the room in a pale white glow.

Pacifica sat at the head of Dipper’s bed, her goggles nowhere to be seen. The light from outside provided just enough luminescence for Dipper to see her shimmering blonde hair. She was cross-legged, flipping through Dipper’s journal and admiring the illustrations. Next to her was a crumpled up blanket, a remnant of the last night they had spent together.

She looked up at Dipper and smiled as he entered. Only the back of her head was illuminated, as she sat facing the interior of the room.

“Ahhh,” sighed Dipper, relaxing as he walked over to Pacifica. He bent his arms backward as he removed his jacket, casting it onto the floor in the midst of Mabel’s scattered belongings. His phone and the Weslee within it made a slight thud as they hit the floorboards.

“It’s good to be back,” Dipper continued. He sat down at the foot of his bed and immediately flopped onto his back, breathing deeply.

“Yeah,” replied Pacifica, pleased. “I’m glad we made it. That tree falling over was scary.”

“Not just the tree!” corrected Dipper, laughing. “This entire night. Between your family and Sam, and then Wendy threatening to cut you in half, we’ve made it through a lot.”

“I wouldn’t have let Wendy do anything,” smiled Pacifica. “We’re tough, though. If we made it through all of that, I think we can make it through just about anything.”

“I hope so,” said Dipper, reaching up and taking her hand. He drew it to his lips and kissed it, running his fingers gently over her knuckles as he thought. With her free hand, she kept reading the journal.

“I was terrified that I had lost you,” Dipper whispered, barely audible.

“Not yet,” smirked Pacifica. “It’s going to take more than a single night for you to get rid of me.”

“It wasn’t just a single night, though,” replied Dipper. “I mean, what happened tonight didn’t take that long, but it had been brewing for a while. I just didn’t realize all that I had been doing the past few days. And when you laid it all out for me at once… it was a lot.”

“I haven’t been perfect either,” said Pacifica, sadly. “I could have handled things a lot better.”

“We both could have,” sighed Dipper, closing his eyes. “But you were right about what you said to Sam. We’ve learned our lesson—let’s move on and make sure that it doesn’t happen again.”

“I’d like that,” Pacifica smiled. “I’ve been missing you a lot lately.”

“How so?” smirked Dipper, turning over and getting up on his hands and knees. Letting go of Pacifica’s hand, he crawled up and gently removed the journal from her grasp, closing it and placing it on his nightstand.

“I’ve been with you for the past three days,” he smiled mischievously. “We’ve spent a lot of time together. Unless there’s… something else about me that you’ve been missing?”

“Maybe,” said Pacifica, casting her head down and burying her face in Dipper’s chest.

“I wonder what it could be?” Dipper asked breathlessly as he hugged Pacifica, pulling her in closely. She shook, as though all of the emotion of the past few days was leaving her body in a coordinated and tired burst.

“I’d like to find out,” she said, her voice flat as she felt Dipper’s hands slide through her hair and caress the back of her head, using the leverage of her bun to gently tilt her head back and up to him.

Dipper pushed forward, unable to contain himself any longer, vibrantly pressing himself against Pacifica and enveloping her in a kiss. She wrapped her arms around him, sharp pink nails scratching his back as she pulled him in closer. Dipper smiled as they tumbled together into the moonlight.

Dipper pulled away and kissed her again, opening his eyes as he did so. He knew that her lips were likely chapped from walking out into the freezing wind when the tree had fallen, but they seemed less yielding, and cooler than usual.

For the first time, he saw Pacifica’s full face staring up at the ceiling, goggle-less, cast in the white illumination of the moon.

His breath hitched for a moment, before he caught himself.

Slowly, he reached back up and wrapped his hand in her hair, holding her head in place as he removed his lips and kissed down her neck, hesitant and sharp pecks. Her breathing never changed pace. With his cheek pressed against her neck, he could feel no pulse.

His left hand slowly ventured down her arm, caressing her shoulder before lightly teasing the fine hair on her forearm. He wrapped his hand around her fragile wrist, and took a deep breath.

Pacifica screamed in terror as Dipper rolled off of the bed, his hands wrapped around her wrist and interlaced with her hair. Dipper grunted with effort as his arms strained, lifting Pacifica off of the mattress, her head snapping violently as her hair was pulled.

A yelp emerged from Dipper’s lungs as he felt the stitches within his arm rip through the newly formed skin, sending a crimson burst of blood cascading through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. His muscles never hesitated, however, resonating with energy as he threw his girlfriend through the air.

Pacifica’s limbs flailed wildly as she impacted Mabel’s bare bed with a hard thud, the resolute wooden frame shaking against her pale skin. Slowly, she drooped to the floor, coughing as tears started to flow from her eyes and she tried to regain her breath. Now facing away from the window, her face was once again obscured in shadow.

“Dipper?” she begged, confusedly. “What… what did you do? Am I okay? Tell me I’m okay.”

“You don’t get to talk,” Dipper said, throwing the crumpled up blanket that had been on his bed over Pacifica’s head. She weakly raised her arms, attempting to defend herself as she tried to pull the blanket off.

Her vision temporarily obscured, Dipper dropped to the floor and thrust his arm under his bed, fumbling for the red cylinder that he knew was beneath the frame. He panicked for a moment, unable to feel the cool metal of the fire extinguisher, but gave a quick sigh of relief as he gripped it by the hose.

Rolling, he pulled it out into the open and hopped up onto his feet, pointing the hose directly at Pacifica. At that moment, Pacifica finally managed to pull herself out from beneath the blanket, her hair now disheveled and cascading around her face. Dipper’s hand was firmly placed on the handle of the extinguisher, ready to squeeze at a moment’s notice.

“Dipper?” she asked again feebly, reaching out to him. “What’s going on? Why are you doing this?”

“I said _you don’t get to talk_ ,” commanded Dipper, causing Pacifica to shrink back in fear.

“I’m only going to ask this once,” he continued. “ _What did you do with Pacifica?”_

“Dipper, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she pleaded, crawling forward.

“Don’t move!” Dipper ordered. “Answer the question.”

“I… I…” Pacifica stuttered as Dipper menaced forwards with the extinguisher. Dark bands of bruising were starting to emerge on her wrist, forehead, and shoulders from Dipper’s abuse. “I don’t know!”

“Last chance, you son of a bitch!” swore Dipper, hand clenching in preparation to blast the extinguisher.

“That’s… that’s it!” shouted Pacifica, her voice going from feeble and frightened to authoritative in an instant. “Dipper Pines, you and I are through! Now and forever!”

A pulse of cold and draining dread rushed through Dipper’s veins as he lowered the extinguisher. Had he made a mistake? Was this the real Pacifica?

Suddenly, both Dipper and Pacifica winced as the door to the attic burst open. Melody stepped inside, her pistol at the ready, having forced the door open with a single well placed kick. Soos was in the hallway behind her, bat at the ready.

“What’s going on in here?!” asked Melody loudly, scanning the darkened room.

“Dipper attacked me!” Pacifica cried, leaning forwards.

As she advanced, her face emerged into a band of moonlight. Hair swinging to the side, Dipper was able to see her eyes perfectly.

They were blue, but not Pacifica’s blue. They weren’t cool, resonant, and icily warm like his girlfriend’s. Pacifica’s eyes held a complexity and depth that Dipper could never forget, icicles and glaciers bleeding into oceanic depths.

The eyes of the Pacifica before him were placid and matte—a single monochromatic blue, almost as septically flat as the liquid within a portable toilet. They held no personality, no soul—they were a monster’s best guess at what her eyes would be.

Soos and Melody’s gazes snapped to Dipper’s frenzied expression—they didn’t know her eyes well enough to recognize that something was wrong. All they saw was a broken and battered girl on the floor, and a deranged man threatening her.

“Put down the fire extinguisher,” commanded Melody, her pistol shifting to point at Dipper’s leg. She didn’t address him by name, unsure of who he really was. Soos’s expression behind her was full of confusion and worry.

Dipper had one chance to act before Melody immobilized him—and he couldn’t let the shapeshifter escape. It had clearly done something with the real Pacifica, and he wanted, needed, to find her.

With a single fluid movement, Dipper crouched and sprang into the air, leaping backwards onto his mattress as Melody pulled the trigger of her pistol. A single colored laser arced through the room, slicing through the rough wooden floorboards and leaving a scorch mark where it had penetrated.

Pacifica yelped at the shot and tumbled backwards. As she fell onto her back, she looked up at Dipper in fear as he pointed the extinguisher hose at her—this time, her eyes were green.

Dipper squeezed his hand tightly, compressing the metal handle of the fire extinguisher. Pacifica screamed and held up her hands defensively as a cloudy white rush of frozen carbon dioxide burst from the hose, showering the room and completely enveloping her. Her movements, once frenzied and panicked, started to slow as the onslaught continued.

Dipper kept the trigger completely pressed until the carbon dioxide in the canister began to run out, the barrage of white foam turning to a stream, and then a trickle.

Melody readjusted her aim, this time pointing towards Dipper’s torso. His eyes flashed over to her, seeing that she wasn’t going to miss again.

Quickly turning, he showed her the blood that had soaked through his freshly torn stitches. She lowered her pistol in surprise, and horror at what she had done. Dipper may have gone crazy, but he was still Dipper.

Dipper cast the expended extinguisher aside with a thud, hopping down onto the floorboards, careful to avoid stepping on the hole that the laser had left behind. He advanced towards Pacifica’s body warily. The mountain of white foam that she lay within was already beginning to disappear, the frozen carbon dioxide sublimating into the air with a violent hiss.

She had an immobile expression of petrified fear on her face, her skin entirely covered with ice crystals. Dipper reached out and tapped her skin—it was as hard as stone.

“So, like… is she the shapeshifter?” asked Soos confusedly, stepping into the room.

“Yeah,” answered Dipper, sighing. “Her eyes were different. And a normal person’s skin doesn’t freeze solid that easily—the fire extinguisher completely immobilized the outer membrane.”

“But then, where’s the real Pacifica?” asked Melody, kneeling down and touching the shapeshifter’s frozen face.

“I don’t know,” replied Dipper coldly. If adrenaline wasn’t still pumping through his body, he would have burst into tears. “But right now,” he swallowed, “we need to get this thing immobilized. The fire extinguisher only froze the outer layer of it. It’ll be free before too long. Once we have it secured, we can ask about Pacifica.”

“Dude, maybe you killed it!” said Soos enthusiastically. “I mean, it’s a lot smaller than it was earlier. Maybe the extinguisher was cold enough to freeze it all the way through!”

“Let’s not ride on any maybes, Soos,” Melody said, placing her hand on his shoulder.

“Still,” said Dipper. “It will take a while for it to thaw. It’s basically a big ice block.”

Immediately, a sharp cracking sound shot through the room. Dipper, Melody, and Soos turned their heads and focused on the false frozen body of Pacifica.

A large fissure had run down the front of her face, separating her eyes and forcing her lips apart. From her eyes, lips, nostrils, and ears, a viscous pink liquid started to seep slowly. The flow quickly surged in intensity, the neural jelly of the creature forcing its way up and out through the orifices of the frozen Pacifica’s face.

Soon, the fractures were great enough that her entire head exploded in a shower of ice crystals and jelly, filling the room with a foul smell. Dipper watched in horror as the creature reconstituted itself, the shifting membrane binding the neural jelly together—the monster had shed its old, frozen membrane and formed a new one.

In the process, it had lost even more of its mass, now standing only five feet tall. Still it had enough bulk to completely shatter the frozen remains of the discarded Pacifica shell when it placed a rapidly reconstituting foot upon it.

Quickly, the neural jelly piled up and crept into the form of the creature. It was much less imposing, but its beady eyes were filled with no less hate.

“What did you do with Pacifica?” Dipper asked again, loudly, looking around the room for a weapon. Finding none, he started backing towards the door with Melody and Soos. “When did you take her?”

“She was easy to dispose of,” said the shapeshifter, morphing and moving its limbs about as it tested the limits of its new body, following its frozen metamorphosis. “All I had to do was knock over a tree, and pull her out from underneath you.” Spines rippled up and down the monster’s back, protrusions emerging before being drawn back in.

“You took her during the crash?” accused Dipper, horrified. “How? She answered the champagne question right!”

“I smelled it on her skin,” hissed the monster, expanding and growing larger as prehensile tentacles emerged from its back. With splintering thuds, keratinous anchors shot into the wood of the attic’s supports, the shapeshifter lifting itself into the air. “Though, I’m sure it’s frozen by now. I hope she enjoyed her final drink.” A shuddering quake reverberated through the creature’s body, a perverse laughter.

“You just left her in the woods!?!?” exclaimed Dipper, horrified. The crash had happened an hour ago—if the shapeshifter had left her there alone, how long could she last in her light clothes, amongst the freezing rain and howling wind?

“They say that the cold is a nice way to go,” cackled the shapeshifter, two more tentacles emerging from its body as it began to swing back and forth. “But I assure you that it is not.”

Dipper screamed as he rushed towards the monster, leaping into the air with his hands outstretched, fingers ready to dig into the gelatinous meat of the creature.

The shapeshifter didn’t even grunt with effort as one of its tentacles, tipped with a stony club, swung through the air and caught Dipper in the side of his rib cage. His momentum redirected, Dipper flew across the room and crashed with a groan on Mabel’s mattress-less bed. He coughed once, feeling a clump of blood rocket from his throat and land on the floorboards.

Regaining his bearings, Dipper raised his head just in time to see the shapeshifter swing from the rafter, directly over the heads of Soos and Melody. They both turned around, Melody keeping her finger on the trigger as she lifted her pistol. The monster landed in the hallway lightly, blocking off access to the rest of the Shack.

A single shot rang out, though the shapeshifter easily morphed around the blast—it didn’t want to lose any more of its jelly if it could help it. The three humans watched in fear as the monster drew in its tentacles, morphing into a perfect representation of Dipper, complete with fake blood and bandage around the left arm. The fake Dipper winked back at the attic, smirkingly, and then turned to race down the hallway.

As he ran, he extended his arm all the way to the ceiling, his hand morphing into a thunderous sawblade that pierced the roof of the Shack. Snow and debris began to tumble into the hallway, preventing the humans from following him.

Dipper immediately sprang to his feet—if the shapeshifter had been Pacifica all along, then that meant that it had seen Mabel go into the gift shop to get Ford. It knew what room the entrance to the lab was in, and its goal of escaping the valley remained unchanged.

Soos and Melody bolted for the stairs, trying to beat the collapsing roof, but Dipper moved faster than them both. He lunged between them, just barely avoiding a large piece of timber that had snapped off and crashed into the building. Leaving the adults behind, Dipper took the staircase in three great leaps, plummeting down so intensely quick that he slid into the kitchen once he had reached the bottom.

As Dipper scrambled back to the living room, his breath caught as he saw the silver flash of Wendy’s axe fly through the air. He instinctively ducked, the blade racing immediately over his head and planting itself in one of the new support structures that Soos had built. With a grunt, Wendy pulled it out and grounded her stance, the fake Dipper sheltering behind her.

The shapeshifter, masquerading as Dipper, had only beaten the real one down the stairs by a few seconds. Between the blood on his sleeve and the intense paranoia that Wendy was already struggling with, however, he had been able to convince her that the real Dipper was the shapeshifter.

Stan had been awakened by the commotion, and had his brass knuckles wrapped around his fist—however, every time he tried to move, he let out a grunt of pain and slumped back into his chair. Ford was nowhere to be found, still down in his lab working on the weirdness equipment and entirely unaware of the chaos unfolding two stories above his head.

Waddles had finally awoken, the echoing ravages of the fight too loud to sleep through. Mabel has wrapped him in one of her largest sweaters, and hid with him behind Stan’s chair. She had only been able to sleep for a few minutes, and her eyes still burned red.

“Come on Wendy,” said the shapeshifter through Dipper’s voice. “That’s not the real me!” Her eyes darted back and forth in confusion, noticing that both Dippers had fresh blood dripping from their arms. Even though the shapeshifter’s wound was imitation, it still shone as deeply red as the real thing.

Unsure of what to do, Wendy started to back up. Dipper had once been in a similar position, and Wendy was fumbling through her mind for some question she could ask to verify who was real, but came up with nothing. Soos and Melody, who could have vouched for the real Dipper, were still trapped upstairs.

“Come on!” said the shapeshifter, urging Wendy forward. “Don’t let him in here!”

Wendy’s eyes flashed around, straining to figure out some way to protect everyone. Soon, though, her eyes hardened. She wasn’t sure which Dipper was the real one, but she knew that Stan, Mabel, and Waddles were also in the living room—and so the living room needed to be protected.

Dipper raised his hands in defense as Wendy raised her axe and advanced towards him, the shapeshifter’s eyes darting towards the entrance to the gift shop. Dipper opened his mouth to plead for Wendy to recognize him as being real, but was cut off by a squealing Waddles.

“Waddles!” shouted Mabel, half in elation and half in terror as the wounded pig struggled free of his swaddling sweater and walked to the fake Dipper. With his wound, he moved slowly, his body rocking back and forth as he struggled to maintain balance. The real Dipper and Wendy turned to face the shapeshifter as the pig sniffed around the feet of the monster.

Then, with a mighty snort, Waddles reached up and bit the fake Dipper’s fingers with as much strength as he could muster before collapsing to the ground. The shapeshifter screamed as pink jelly gushed from the wound.

Faster than Dipper could even follow, Wendy had drawn back her axe and flung it through the air, shining blade spinning as it arced towards the shapeshifter. The fake Dipper’s head puckered and burst into ooze as the axe planted itself in the central support beam that held up the room.

“I’m getting really tired of this thing!” howled the monster as it abandoned any pretense of being Dipper. Mabel darted out from behind Stan’s chair and grabbed Waddles by his haunches, pulling him back into safety.

Shifting back into its natural form, the shapeshifter pulled Wendy’s axe from the support beam and flung it towards Dipper and the redhead. He clearly lacked Wendy’s precision, but the two humans immediately dropped to the floor as the blade flew overhead, landing at the foot of the stairs with a clatter.

Dipper looked up as the shapeshifter continued to change and morph. With a smaller amount of neural jelly now, it shifted more rapidly and dynamically, moving so quickly as to make easily following it impossible.

From its back, four pulses of razor-tipped tentacles races across the room to Soos’s new supports. They wrapped around the perfectly symmetrical triangles and, with a grunt of effort from the shapeshifter, tore them loose from their mountings. The Shack groaned as the weight of the snow upon it diverted to the supports that the shapeshifter had damaged during its first assault. The rafters overhead buckled from stress, almost the entire weight of the second story resting on the floor jack and central beam.

The glittering Christmas tree, suspended from the ceiling and heavy with homemade ornaments, fell to the ground with a crash. The small number of presents beneath it were crumpled and scattered.

Wendy scrambled to grab her axe as the shapeshifter drew its tentacles back in. Then, diverting mass to its arms, it placed its shoulder against the central support pillar and anchored its feet into the carpeting with barbed spikes. Wendy wrapped her hand around her weapon, but dropped it as the beam began to shift.

“No!” Dipper shouted as the shapeshifter pushed, forcing the central support beam out of position. With the weight of the snow, the new hole that the shapeshifter had torn into the roof, and the damage to the support structure combining together, there was no way the second story could remain intact.

The shapeshifter cackled as the pillar started to fall, the ceiling above the living room buckling and straining as it started to collapse. The shapeshifter quickly knelt down and slithered into the gift shop as the humans sheltered as best they could—Mabel protecting Waddles with her body, and Dipper grabbing ahold of Wendy. A series of violent cracks and snaps echoed through the frame of the house as the remaining supports broke like toothpicks.

“Not now you don’t!” ordered Stan with a painful groan as he grabbed ahold of the tumbling pillar. Wendy and Dipper looked up in astonishment. The injured man of mystery had launched himself from his chair, placed his shoulder against the log, and now anchored it in place like a titan. If he wavered for a moment, the timber would fall, and the Shack with it—but his muscles were iron.

“Uh,” Stan continued, straining, “a little help here?” Dipper and Wendy sprang to their feet, Mabel following a moment later, after patting Waddles on the head for a job well done.

“Mabel, get the jack!” shouted Wendy, pointing to the contraption on the floor. Wendy rushed to help Stan, slowly forcing the timber back into place. As they worked, Mabel pumped the jack back up, supporting the framework of the Shack and saving it from immediate collapse.

“I’ll get the shapeshifter!” announced Dipper, cracking his knuckles as he looked around the room. He scooped up Wendy’s axe and raced past the jack into the gift shop. Above all, Ford needed to be warned.

The shutters on the door to the gift shop rattled as Dipper flung them open, stepping into the darkened room just in time to hear the shrieking groan of the vending machine as it was forced away from the wall.

The shapeshifter had been alone in the gift shop for long enough to figure out where the entrance was—there were only so many places that a door could hide. It had wedged its body in between the machine and the wall, and then expanded the jelly inside of itself like steel rods. The hinges holding the vending machine snapped as they were torn free from their mountings, exposing the staircase leading to the lab elevator.

The shapeshifter immediately ducked into the hallway, not noticing that Dipper had escaped from the living room and was set on following him. Dipper panted, exhausted as he turned and slipped into the narrow gap left by the machine.

The hallway inside was dimly lit in hues of flickering blue and green. Dipper slowly crept down the stairs, following the shapeshifter as he tried to control his breathing.

At the end of the hallway, the monster stood in its natural form, waiting for the elevator to rise up from the bottom floor. As it stood there, Dipper watched from behind as it swelled and elongated, once more mirroring him. Disguising himself as Dipper had been enough to confuse Wendy, so it appeared the shapeshifter would try the same ruse with Ford.

Dipper ran his finger against the blade of Wendy’s axe, wishing that he had grabbed another fire extinguisher from the supply closet. The axe could slow the creature down, but he wouldn’t be able to seriously hurt it. He didn’t have time to run back and retrieve the extinguisher—by then, the shapeshifter would be long gone. He had to warn Ford before the creature got ahold of the teleportation engine. He took a deep breath, thinking of a plan.

A dim glow filled the hallway as the elevator ascended to the top floor. The doors slowly creaked open, allowing the shapeshifter to step inside. It turned around, looking around the small room warily—it had never been in an elevator before, but quickly discerned the purpose of the buttons. Pressing the one that would take him to the bottom floor, the doors closed behind it.

As the elevator began to descend, the yellow glow from inside sinking down into the earth, Dipper ran down the final steps and swung the axe through the air, wedging the blade in between the two metallic doors. With a mighty grunt, he twisted the handle and forced the doors apart.

Placing his shoulder in between them, Dipper slowly inched his way into the elevator shaft. Less than a foot away from his face, the metallic wheels supporting the elevator turned as the shapeshifter descended.

Dipper, straining, reached out and grabbed the support cables. They moved steadily through his hands, scraping against his skin. He would need both hands to hang onto the smooth cable—if he fell, the shapeshifter would surely hear him and act violently. Having no other choice, Dipper let go of the axe, letting it fall to the floor in the outside hallway with a thud.

He fell into the shaft, wincing as he wrapped his hands and legs around the cables, feeling them eat into his skin and leave his palms bloody. Slowly, keeping his breathing steady, he lowered himself to the roof of the elevator. He stepped onto it gently, not wanting the metal to so much as creak.

Dipper knelt down, wrapping his hand around the handle to the access hatch in the elevator roof. As he did so, he heard the sound of the cable motor gently fade away as the elevator stopped on the bottom floor.

The doors opened, sending the yellow light from inside the elevator flooding up into the elevator shaft.

“Ford!” said the shapeshifter, mimicking Dipper’s voice perfectly as he walked into the lab’s entryway.

“Ah, Dipper!” replied Ford cheerily. “How was the party?” He suspected nothing.

Dipper kept his breathing steady—once he saw the shadow of the creature pass through the elevator door, he quickly turned the access hatch handle and flung open the metal panel.

“Ford!” he shouted as he dropped down to the floor of the elevator, feeling the cables strain above him at the impact. He squatted down deeply as he fell, keeping his knees tight. “That’s not the real me!” he bellowed, springing up and lunging for the shapeshifter.

“Dipper!” shouted Ford in response, as the shapeshifter bolted for the lab door, still in the guise of the teenager and moving faster than Dipper could keep up with. Dipper wanted to tackle the shapeshifter to the ground and beat him into submission, but he remembered how confused Wendy had been upstairs—not wanting to force Ford into the same situation, he chose to take a different approach.

Ford had been on the far end of the lab, tightening a bolt on a large satellite dish that sprouted multiple antennae. At Dipper’s shout, he had turned to face the lab’s lounge area, and seen two of his nephew. His eyes had immediately shot towards the teleportation engine, the two glass spheres still gently pulsing with a blue and orange light. He had screwed the central bolt all the way in to prevent any mishaps, but the shapeshifter could undo that in a moment.

Ford immediately tucked his wrench into his pocket as the first Dipper entered the room. He sprinted over to the engine and placed himself in between it and his two identical nephews. A fresh syringe full of tetrodotoxin hung on his wall of armaments, but he couldn’t reach it without abandoning the engine. Instead, he pulled out his laser pistol, holding it tight as the two Dippers advanced towards him.

“Which one of you is real?” he asked pointedly, shifting his gaze between the two of them. As he spoke, the first Dipper slowly progressed towards the engine, while the other broke away towards the wall of weapons.

“It’s me, Ford,” said the first Dipper as he approached the older man. The second Dipper didn’t respond—instead, he reached out and immediately grabbed the fresh, cobalt-blue syringe from the wall and turned to face his duplicate.

Ford immediately shifted his pistol to the first Dipper—he knew that only his real nephew would to go to retrieve the syringe. The shapeshifter would have immediately destroyed it. And besides, Dipper always called him ‘Grunkle Ford.’

The shapeshifter, followed the flickering of Ford’s eyes as he looked towards the syringe. The monster, upon seeing another weapon like the one that had devoured half of its mass, immediately broke cover.

Instead of swelling and turning into a massive beast, however, the shapeshifter was subtle—he had lost too much of his jelly to be anything else. He immediately dove to the ground, spinning around as his legs elongated into whips.

Ford lowered his pistol and fired a shot, but missed as he was knocked off of his feet by the flailing creature. He tumbled to the concrete floor and impacted it with a sharp thud, struggling to breathe as the wind was knocked out of him. Dipper extended the needle on his syringe gun and charged for the shapeshifter, but skidded to a halt when the monster placed a slimy foot on Ford’s chest.

Ford winced, feeling the shapeshifter alter the texture of its foot to become sharp and pointed. If the monster wanted to, it could easily send a lancing shot deep into his heart.

“Yes,” said the shapeshifter pointedly as it leaned over to the teleportation engine. “Stay over there, you imbecilic and frustrating boy.” Slowly, mockingly, it started to release the central screw that kept the engine closed.

Ford started to struggle, wanting to get as far away from the engine as possible, knowing the danger it posed if it were ever fully activated. As he did so, however, he felt the spines of the shapeshifter’s feet dig even more deeply into his chest.

“It’s been too long, old friend,” continued the shapeshifter, looking down at Ford. “I’m almost tempted to kill you right now.” Ford fumbled around in his pocket, trying not to choke at the painful odor of the creature’s words. A smile briefly spread across his face as he came across the wrench that he had been holding when the monster had first entered.

“Then why don’t you?” asked Ford, trying to sound confident. If the shapeshifter really wanted to do away with him, it would have done so by now.

“Because,” said the creature, pausing to looking back at the screw and observe his progress. It was almost halfway out. While the shapeshifter was distracted, Ford looked up and made eye contact with Dipper, pointing urgently to the many magnet guns on the opposite wall. Dipper looked back confusedly, but understood once Ford showed him the shiny gleam of his wrench.

“I was trapped underground for thirty-four years,” the monster continued. “And I learned that the scariest things aren’t physical. They’re mental. I was trapped in my own head, in my own body, and I had to cope with that—looking at the same unchanging concrete wall, and the broken steel cage I had escaped from, only to be trapped again.

“And,” the shapeshifter hissed. “Once I get out of this infernal valley, you’ll never be able to sleep again. You know that I’ll be out there, anywhere and everywhere. I will be everyone you know, and everyone you love. And, when you’re laying on your deathbed, you won’t even be sure that you are not me.” Ford drew back at the creature’s words, breathing heavily.

A loud metallic thud echoed through the empty lab as the screw was finally removed from the engine, and fell to the worktable with a thud. The colors within the spheres started to pulse and glow brighter. Ford swallowed.

“I’m just sorry that I won’t be here to see it,” smiled the shapeshifter as an extra limb extended up from his back, forming into a pointed sickle. With a wicked grin, it grunted and swung the blade through the air, impacting the orange sphere and sending a spiderweb of frostlike cracks through the glass.

“Now, Dipper!” shouted Ford, pulling the wrench out of his pocket and holding it above his head. The head of the shapeshifter snapped in Dipper’s direction as the sound of a magnet gun powering up echoed through the room.

A blue beam arced through the air and latched onto the wrench, pulling Ford free of the shapeshifter’s grasp and across the room to Dipper. Ford grunted in pain as he felt his shoulders straining at their sockets, and the needles of the creature’s feet leave a patchwork of pinprick blood stains in his chest.

The shapeshifter opened his mouth to speak, but was drowned out by the reaction of the teleportation engine. Dipper stood up and knocked over a worktable, pulling Ford behind it to act as the slightest bit of shelter. However, neither Ford nor Dipper had enough self-control to keep from peeking out at the spectacle before them.

The colors inside the spheres shifted from orange and blue to a deep purple and a burning yellow. They cycled through every hue imaginable, casting the lab in a radiant light as the cracks crept across the glass, becoming larger and larger as the contents of the two spheres rushed to meet each other.

The air around the engine became hazy as it started to shake, rattling the metal table like a thundering drum, unable to contain the energy within itself. The shapeshifter looked at the Pines—a grin still on its face as the concrete on the floor around it started to flake away.

Suddenly, that expression of triumph became one of pain as the body of the shapeshifter started to flake away as well. Wherever a slight bit of neural jelly was torn away, the membrane around the creature immediately reformed—but, as the breaking became more and more intense, the jelly started to melt and pour out onto the concrete, only to be swept up in the windstorm.

A ten foot sphere around the engine was filled with swirling debris—it wasn’t spiraling, like a tornado, but rather seemed to pulse as the light from the engine shone out into it.

“What’s happening?” asked Dipper as he covered his eyes.

“I don’t know,” replied Ford, doing the same. “It’s like the engine is teleporting everything around it back into itself! Neural jelly is scrambling with concrete, metal, and glass!”

As he spoke, a violent howl echoed from the center of the sphere. The air around the engine was almost completely opaque, but the engine shone brightly enough that the silhouette of the shapeshifter, ever smaller, could be seen writhing and contorting, its extra limb still caught in the sphere.

“The engine is teleporting the neural jelly so quickly that the shapeshifter can’t adapt to what’s going on!” exclaimed Ford enthusiastically. “It’s being torn apart!”

At that, the scream of the shapeshifter was cut off chokingly as a crack like lightning sounded through the room. Suddenly, the sphere froze.

Then, with a tremendous sucking motion, everything in the sphere was draw in towards a single infinitesimal point, the metal of the engine creaking and groaning as it succumbed to the pressure and crumpled like a tin can. The lights within the spheres finally blinked out as the glass was ground back into sand.

After the lightning came the thunder—Dipper and Ford grabbed onto each other for stability as the air in the room rushed to fill the void that the engine had just left. The pumps in Soos’s newly installed ventilation system kicked into high gear to replace the lost air.

Dipper and Ford sat there in silence as they caught their breath.

Tentatively, they sat back up, peering over the table they had sheltered behind to look at what remained of the shapeshifter and teleportation engine.

There was nothing.

Everything in a ten-foot sphere, from worktables to the very concrete of the floor and the earth beneath it, had been disintegrated and absorbed. A semicircular crater sat in the center of Ford’s lab. There was no sign of the shapeshifter.

“Do you… do you think that the shapeshifter’s gone?” asked Dipper as the two men stood up and walked to the edge of the hole.

“Yeah,” Ford chuckled, though the motion caused him to wince. The shapeshifter’s foot had left many shallow cuts in his chest—there weren’t enough to pose a threat to his life, but they were still incredibly painful. The fabric of his turtleneck dragged across them as he breathed.

“I think it’s gone,” he continued, smiling. “The engine itself was disintegrated, along with everything else.”

“So, the shapeshifter didn’t get teleported?” asked Dipper, rubbing his eyes.

“No,” confirmed Ford. “It got teleported into itself so quickly that it couldn’t shift. It’s very molecules were shredded. And then, it got sucked into who knows where… I think that there might have been a tiny black hole in there. I’ll need to look over the math to be sure. But, we’re all safe now, and that’s what matters.” Ford patted Dipper on the back with a chuckle.

“Pacifica!” shouted Dipper, Ford’s words refocusing his adrenaline. He had been locked in a battle with the shapeshifter, but now his concern for his girlfriend flooded back in a tidal wave of emotion.

The shapeshifter had said that it had switched placed with her at the fallen tree—there was no shelter, and the frozen night would sap the heat from a person’s bones in minutes.

Dipper sprinted for the elevator.


	25. Rime

Dipper tapped the button on the elevator as quickly as he could, ascending to the first floor. It wasn’t moving fast enough.

He bounced on his heels as he waited, patting his pockets to make sure that he still had Francine’s keys. His jacket was on the floor upstairs, but there wasn’t enough time to retrieve it.

Dipper sprinted forward as the doors opened, only to immediately crash into Stan and Wendy. They had successfully managed to put the central support beam back in place, and were going downstairs with the intention of helping Ford and Dipper.

“Hey, kid, slow down!” said Stan, holding up his hands. “What happened down there?”

“Shapeshifter’s gone!” shouted Dipper, pushing past them and running up to the gift shop. “You can go help Ford!” Dipper knew he was being rude, but couldn’t wait another second to get on the road—he needed to make sure that Pacifica was safe.

“If I acted like that,” Dipper heard Stan mumble, “my dad would have used his belt.”

“Yeah,” laughed Wendy, “and look how you turned out.”

“Sometimes I still wish I could fire you,” replied Stan, chuckling to himself.

As Dipper ran, their voices faded away behind him. He quickly turned and ran through the living room, where Mabel sat rubbing Waddles’s belly. The pig, having recovered from his exertions, was now awake and squirming happily.

“Hey bro—“ Mabel began before pausing. “Is everything okay?”

“The shapeshifter took Pacifica and left her in the woods,” announced Dipper, heading for the door. He never stopped moving.

“Woah, dude,” said Soos as he walked down the stairs. He and Melody had finally managed to extricate themselves from the damage that the shapeshifter had wrought on the second floor. “Do you need us to go with you?”

“No,” Dipper said instinctively, not thinking clearly. “You stay here and help Ford. Make sure the Shack is safe.”

“You got it dude,” replied Soos, saluting as Dipper flung the door open. He had spoken with such authority that Soos couldn’t not listen. The last thing Dipper saw before he closed the door was Waddles getting back onto his feet and taking a tentative step before sitting back down, oinking happily as Melody reached down and scratched his ears.

Dipper sprinted to Francine, flinging the door open and leaping inside.

“Come on, come on, come on,” he mumbled as he inserted the key and cranked the engine. After a few sputtering seconds, Francine roared to life. Dipper reversed without looking where he was going, knowing the Shack’s parking lot well enough to avoid hitting anything. Instinctively, he clicked his seatbelt into place.

The truck’s wheels squealed against the asphalt, throwing up snow as Dipper pressed his foot down onto the gas pedal, quickly accelerating to fifty miles an hour.

He thought about what Pacifica had been wearing—a light jacket, and a dress that didn’t even come down to her knees. A freezing rain still splattered down onto his windshield, the cold glass immediately solidifying the droplets into ice crystals. Through Francine’s headlights, he could see the treetops waving in the wind.

He needed to find her.

Dipper couldn’t remember exactly what curve the tree had been around, but he knew that it had been close by. He could feel sweat beading up under his arms as he turned the wheel, sliding to the outside of every turn in the road. There was no one else out this late, in this weather.

His heartbeat pounded in his head. He and Pacifica were good—they had just fought, and just recovered. For the first time, a fracture had emerged between them and they had patched it up and grown beyond it. He couldn’t lose her to the cold—not now.

Ice was beginning to accumulate on Francine’s windshield, making it more difficult for Dipper to see. Dipper punched the defroster button, but it wasn’t working quickly enough. He turned the windshield wipers on, gritting his teeth as the sound of rubber scraping and biting across the ice filled the cabin of the truck.

After a few passes, however, the wipers finally caught on a slight ridge in the ice and pushed a panel of frozen water to the pavement with a crash. Dipper could see perfectly, just in time to spot the corpse of the tree laying across the road ahead.

He took his foot off of the gas and applied the brake, feeling Francine slow down as her tires hugged the asphalt. Then, she accelerated.

Dipper’s eyes grew wide as he slammed the brakes down, locking the wheels in place. And yet, Francine slid forwards, seeming to move faster as she started to turn. As Dipper ran out of road, and saw the fallen truck resting as a roadblock in front of him, he winced and pulled his arms in tight around his head.

The tread on Francine’s tires was impotent against the black ice that had accumulated on the road. The water from the fallen tree had combined with the steady drizzling rain and immediately frozen. And this time, Dipper hadn’t turned the wheel and locked the drivetrain into a spin.

Francine slammed into the fallen tree engine first, the metal grill immediately crumpling inwards. With a final violent burst, the engine died. The steering wheel airbag burst outwards as Dipper grunted, feeling his seatbelt jerk his chest back, leaving a large bruise.

He groaned as the explosive force of the airbag stopped his forward momentum, but soon shook his head as he recovered. He quickly undid his seatbelt and pushed the airbag to the side. It appeared that he was okay. However, as he opened the door and stepped out, he immediately saw that Francine wasn’t.

The hood had completely crumpled up, revealing the engine within. Though the central block remained intact, many of the hoses and pipes within the engine had been rent apart by the impact. Francine’s front left wheel had been bent inwards, twisting the axle and making movement impossible. With a final flicker, her headlights died.

The only source of illumination left was the moon, which barely shone down through the blanket of clouds overhead, reflecting against the black ice on the roadway.

Dipper shivered as he closed the door, the metallic slam echoing through the trees. As he took a step forward, he immediately felt his balance vanish as his shoes slipped on the ice. He reached out and grabbed the fallen tree to support himself, using it as an anchor as he made his way to the roadside.

He looked around in the shadows of the trees, unsure of where to even begin searching for Pacifica.

When they had stopped at the tree earlier, the only time he hadn’t seen Pacifica was when she had slipped. Dipper winced, now realizing that the grunting sound she made had not been one of clumsiness, but one of fear as she was dragged away into the trees.

Still, he had seen the shapeshifter in the guise of Pacifica pretty soon after that, so it couldn’t have taken her far. And, based on the way Francine had been positioned at the time, it must have approached her from the tip of the tree—that was also how the shapeshifter had known that there was enough room for the truck to pass through.

Dipper shook his head as he rationalized this information, trying to figure out the best way to look for his girlfriend. Letting go of the trunk, he stepped into the snow and started forging his way to the tip of the tree, walking in the path that Francine had plowed when he had driven around the obstacle earlier.

He was already breathing heavily as he approached the end of the tree, feeling the sweat that had been pouring from him earlier condensing and cooling; freezing on his skin. Dipper blinked, clearing his eyes as he tried to adjust to the darkness—even with the reflectivity of the snow, the dim light of the moon made seeing almost impossible.

At the end of the tree, Dipper stood at the edge of where Francine had plowed. He took a deep breath.

“Pacifica!” he shouted into the woods, cupping his hands around his mouth. The trees swallowed his words, drowning them out amongst the howling wind and pale snow.

There was no response. He knelt down in desperation, looking for a sign in the snow of where she had been taken, any sign.

It was at that moment that the briefest glimpse of moonlight shone down through the canopy overhead, illuminating the snow. It seemed to Dipper that there was a pathway in the snow that shone brighter than the rest—as though something warm had been dragged through it, and then the water had frozen into solid ice.

Not wanting to waste the moonlight, Dipper sprang up and charged into motion, forging his way into the darkness. The snow parted before his legs as he pushed his way through it, searching behind every tree large enough for the slightest sign of Pacifica.

“Pacifica!” he called out again, hoping to hear a call back. There was no response but the wind, which bit into his clothes and carried his heat away into the night. He breathed into his hands, trying to keep them warm. He wished that he had taken the time to retrieve his jacket from upstairs.

Dipper kept walking forwards, searching as best he could, occasionally calling Pacifica’s name. As he penetrated deeper into the woods, he realized that his path was curving and twisted. He had lost all sense of direction, and had no idea where Francine was—not that the truck would have started anyway, damaged as it was.

He could have followed his own trail back to the fallen tree, but he wasn’t sure that he had even the energy left to manage that.

“Pacifica!” he called out again.

There was nothing.

Dipper buried his face into his hands, sniffling as he stumbled forward, pushed by a particularly violent gust of wind.

From between his fingers, he could see another burst of moonlight through the branches. He lifted his head—and saw a gray blur in the distance.

Blinking, unsure of what he was seeing, he rushed forwards, lifting his feet high to kick through the snow. Seeing something, anything other than the endless trees and snow, filled him with a final renewed burst of energy. Whatever it was, it sat huddled at the base of a large tree.

His breathing became shallow as he recognized it—a stone triangle, with an eye in the center. Bill. The demon’s arm still emerged from his stony corpse, gesturing towards him with an air of malicious satisfaction.

Dipper fell to his knees. He hadn’t been looking for Bill, but had stumbled back upon his body nonetheless. Dipper’s muscles ached from being thrown across the attic room and fighting the shapeshifter, only made worse by the freezing wind that stripped what little heat remained from his bones.

It was like Bill was mocking him. He had defeated the shapeshifter, and searched through the frozen woods until he had run out of heat, but had lost Pacifica. He had no idea where she was. A search party couldn’t be sent out until tomorrow, and by then it would be too late for him—and far too late for her, wherever she was. And even if he knew, Francine was too busted up to carry them to safety. Dipper punched the statue in the eye.

A feeble groan echoed from behind it. 

Astonished, unsure if his imagination was getting the best of him, Dipper crawled around to the back of the statue. He peered inside, trying to see in the darkness.

Sheltered between the rough bark of the tree trunk and the smooth, brick-patterned back of Bill’s body, was Pacifica. She was in the fetal position, and had covered herself with her hair as much as she possibly could.

“Pacifica!” shouted Dipper, inching forward and forcing himself into the small patch of shelter with her. He immediately picked her up and held her face up to his, making sure that she was still alive. Even though she had groaned, he wanted to be sure. Her breathing was shallow, but present.

“Pacifica, I’m so, so sorry,” said Dipper, not knowing if she could even hear him. She said nothing in response. He rubbed his hands across her arms and legs, feeling the damp chill on her skin.

Quickly, he brought her hands up to his face and inspected them. Her pale pink nails were the only sign of warmth, the rest of her hands having turned blue from the cold. Dipper gently breathed on them, rubbing them between his own hands as he did so, trying to restore warmth.

“I’m sorry about this,” he said, taking her hands and placing them under his armpits. “I know you would hate this if you were awake, but the armpits are the second warmest part of the body.” Even as his own body temperature dropped, he could feel his warmth flowing to her.

Dipper looked her up and down, making sure that she had no obvious injuries. It appeared that the shapeshifter had simply choked her unconscious, since there was no sign of her being hit over the head.

She still wore her the goggles, lashed tight around her face. Dipper gingerly pulled them off and tossed them away into the snow, fully exposing her face. The thin, searing red lines of the bands had eaten into her face more deeply than before, leaving the area around her eyes bloodless and pale. She had kept the goggles on, even as the shapeshifter dragged her away into the forest.

Her eyes were closed in a dreamless sleep--Dipper wished that he could see them. Her long lashes were almost completely covered with delicate ice shards, giving her an ethereal, yet deathly look. If she had been awake, the sparkling crystals would have gone perfectly with her shining irises.

It was then that Dipper realized that Pacifica’s legs and feet were bare—she had taken her shoes off on the ride to the Shack, and not been able to put them back on before she was taken.

“Oh, Paz,” he whimpered, pulling her into his lap as he touched her feet. They were ice cold, her smooth skin tinged with rough crystals of ice. Dipper started rubbing her toes, keeping her hands beneath his arms. He had to get her warmer.

She mumbled in response to the contact with her feet, filling Dipper with hope.

“Come on,” said Dipper, running his fingers over her cracked and pitted nail polish. Then, an idea leapt into his head.

His fingers, going numb as his warmth was stolen by the blonde and the snow, fumbled with his shoelaces, pulling off his shoes and his socks. The outsides of them were wet, but the insides were toasty warm with his body heat.

Moving as gently as he could while being quick enough to save his heat, he tugged his socks and shoes over Pacifica’s feet. Her feet were so much smaller compared to his that the socks almost reached her knees. Dipper, in desperation, started to breathe into the shoes. 

Despite his best efforts, though, Pacifica moved less and less—or, Dipper himself was becoming more and more numb. She had been out in the cold for so long that all of Dipper’s heat wasn’t enough to restore her to motion.

“Just… stay with me,” begged Dipper, rocking back and forth, holding Pacifica in his lap. He swallowed, and felt a hot tear spill down his cheek—freezing before it reached the beginnings of stubble on his chin.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he choked out into the night, “we got the shapeshifter. We saved the Shack. And Mabel, and Soos, and Melody, and Stan, and Ford, and Waddles, and…” Dipper swallowed again.

“Just stay,” he cried into her shoulder. There was no sound but the whistling wind and the gentle creak of the branches above.

Then, Dipper’s ears perked up. It seemed that, in the distance, he heard a loud crack. A thunderous echo washed over the two of them. Then, he heard another.

He was in no shape to fight something. Especially not something in these woods. They would just have to hide, and hope that they could stay warm enough to last until the sun saved them. Dipper tried to wiggle his toes, no longer able to feel them. He laced his hand through Pacifica’s hair and held her head to his chest, kissing the top of her head.

Dipper closed his eyes, and simply rocked, trying to keep his breathing quiet.

Then, seemingly all at once, the trees around them exploded.


	26. Warmth

Pacifica’s eyes opened blearily as she felt herself being shaken around. Instinctively, she gripped tighter to the nearest source of heat—Dipper, who had her sheltered in his arms.

The night was still dark, with only intermittent flashes of the moon penetrating to the snow below. Pacifica’s eyes drifted lazily to the sky, and suddenly noticed that they were moving—the branches above them were being pushed out of the way by some unseen force, allowing the moon to shine a silver path through the forest. She and Dipper progressed through the woods at a decently quick pace, bobbing up and down.

“Dip-Dipper?” she asked feebly, before coughing. As she spoke, she inhaled a very familiar and musty scent that made her want to gag. “Where are we?”

“Pacifica!” whispered Dipper, as loudly as he could without shouting. “You’re awake, you’re awake, you’re awake. I’m so glad you’re awake. Are you warm enough? Can I get you anything?”

Pacifica shivered as he spoke—as great as Dipper’s efforts to restore her body heat had been, her extremities were still tinged with a faint blue hue. Dipper had been successful in preventing frostbite from setting in, but she still needed to get indoors as quickly as possible.

“A-an-answer the question,” she said, trying to smile, but instead finding her lips chapped, cracked, and immobile. She winced.

“We’re going back to the Shack,” replied Dipper, rubbing his hands over her arms and trying to keep her temperature up. He then paused and, reaching next to Pacifica’s head, pulled a thick mass of matted fur down over her. She almost immediately gagged at the scent of it, but was undeniably warmer.

“But… how?” Pacifica asked. “The last thing I remember was getting out of Francine, and then I was in the woods… I crawled beneath that stone thing, and then that was it. I just curled up and waited for you.”

“I’m glad I made it in time,” smiled Dipper. “But I can’t take all the credit for saving you. I would have frozen too if it wasn’t for the manotaurs.”

"The manotaurs?” Pacifica wondered, looking up into the sky. Chutzpar’s head was silhouetted against the midnight blue above them, his eyes gently scanning the forest with animal instinct as they advanced forwards. Pacifica finally realized where they were—cradled in his arms as he bore them through the woods. She grimaced, as she realized that the fur she was covered with must have been his chest hair. She struggled feebly to remove it, but didn’t have the energy.

To the left and right of Chutzpar, two other manotaurs that Pacifica didn’t know the names of walked alongside them, pushing the trees around them to the side and allowing the moon to shine down.

“Where did they come from?” she asked Dipper, only to have Chutzpar’s chest bounce with laughter.

“There is no stronger scent in this world than manly desperation!” he announced loudly, Pacifica feeling his echoing voice reverberating through his body. “We were all sheltered in the man cave from the storm when we felt the earth shake, and then the creature beneath the ground stopped moving.

“After that, the wind carried the Destructor’s scent to us. The ripeness of his sweat told us of fear and passion—it was the bravest of scents! We couldn’t leave a brother alone.”

Pacifica looked at Dipper with narrowed eyes as he shrugged. He was confused as well. He had been desperate, willing with every fiber of his being to find Pacifica, but he hadn’t expected to smell of that desire. The sensitivity of the manotaurs’ noses were a mystery that had yet to be solved.

“Wait…” began Pacifica, returning the focus of the conversation to Dipper. “The thing underground stopped moving? What happened with the shapeshifter? I don’t remember anything after the tree fell.”

“You’ve been freezing,” said Dipper hugging her tighter. It seemed as though Chutzpar’s arms squeezed them a little closer together. “Don’t exert yourself. Basically, the shapeshifter knocked you out and left you in the forest. It turned into you and snuck into the Shack, but it accidently tore itself apart with the teleportation engine. It’s gone now.”

“Good,” shivered Pacifica—from the cold, relief that the shapeshifter was gone, and horror at the fact that the creature had turned into her. “How could you tell that it wasn’t me? Did it fail the blood test?”

“Well… we didn’t make it do the blood test,” Dipper replied, casting his brown eyes down in embarrassment. “I vouched for you. That monster knew the answer to our drink question.”

“What?” Pacifica asked, astonished. “How?”

“It told me that it smelled it on your skin,” Dipper grimaced. “I guess that’s my fault for spilling it on you, even if you did wash it off.”

“You didn’t know what would happen,” Pacifica replied, gently taking Dipper’s hand in hers and squeezing it tightly. “That’s not your fault. But not doing the blood test was just plain stupid.”

“Yeah…” Dipper said, hanging his head. “I know. I was distracted. I wanted to go upstairs with you and… well, you know what. Plus, Wendy threatened the fake you with her axe, and I wanted to get you out of there as quickly as possible.”

“Dipper, did you kiss the shapeshifter?” smirked Pacifica, laughing at him.

“Only once!” defended Dipper. He had considered lying about it, since no one would be able to rat him out, but Pacifica deserved to know about everything that he had done—even if it was with a horrific monster.

“That thing must have really looked like me if you got close enough to kiss it and didn’t notice that something was wrong…” mumbled Pacifica. “Did the goggles not work?”

“No, no!” replied Dipper enthusiastically. “They did work! The shapeshifter just kept its face in the dark until I… well, I kissed it and pushed it into the light. After that, I knew that it couldn’t be you.”

“I’m glad the goggles helped,” Pacifica smirked. “It would be a shame if you put me through all of that for nothing.”

“I would have felt awful,” Dipper confirmed. “I know how much you hated wearing them. But thank you for doing it… it made me feel a lot better. And they actually wound up being useful!”

“You’re smart sometimes,” said Pacifica, her voice growing quieter as she started to drift back off into sleep. As overpoweringly musty as Chutzpar’s scent was, breathing it in combined with the warmth of Dipper was reminding Pacifica of how tired she was. Her breathing started to even out as her eyes closed.

She was safe.

Dipper leaned down and kissed the top of her head as she fell asleep. Even against the odor of the manotaurs, the lavender of her shampoo was powerful and pleasant. Dipper shivered, drawing closer to Chutzpar—all of his chest hair was draped over Pacifica, and Dipper didn’t want to steal any of the warmth from her. He was just glad that the manotaurs were hardy enough creatures to survive out in the cold weather like this.

“Chutzpar?” Dipper asked, looking up at the head of his savior.

“Hmm?” the manotaur replied, sniffing the air and then changing directions as they drew closer to the Shack. Francine would have to stay wrecked on the road for now—what mattered most was that Dipper and Pacifica were safe.

“Were you telling the truth when you said that you smelled me?” Dipper wondered. It didn’t seem right—the night had been chaotic. He had been jealous and insecure, and had spent all night at a dinner party that the manotaurs certainly wouldn’t think was masculine.

“Of course, Destructor!” confirmed Chutzpar with a chuckle. “There are few things in this world that a true man can’t handle on his own—but that doesn’t mean that he should face every challenge alone. He needs support from his brothers when he’s up against the wall. Your odor was so strong that we broke the trees aside to just to get to you.”

“How does my panic translate into scent, though?” Dipper puzzled, confused. He knew that emotions changed the chemical content of tears, but sweat was a new one.

“You can’t understand without the nose of a manotaur,” laughed Chutzpar. “As manly as you are, you don’t have that. For instance, I can tell that your mate’s skin is covered in a very fine layer of that bubbly, girly grape juice!” Pacifica shifted in response, but soon dropped back down into sleep.

“Then you can probably also tell that I haven’t been that manly tonight,” said Dipper, moping.

“What are you talking about?” wondered Chutzpar. “This is the most manly you’ve ever smelled. You stood up to a challenger for your mate’s affections, and then a challenger for her life. And you were gloriously triumphant both times!”

Dipper smiled, grateful that the manotaur wasn’t able to see the expression on his face. He supposed that Chutzpar was right—even if he had been broken and scared before, what mattered was how he had stepped up to the challenge. With Sam, he had been open to reconciliation, and with the shapeshifter, he had accepted no outcome other than victory.

“Thanks, Chutzpar,” replied Dipper, lowering his voice. “For saving me, and for talking. It’s good to come out to the woods every so often to get in touch with my manly side.”

“The man cave is open to you any time, Destructor,” replied Chutzpar. He sniffed the air, and turned one more time—Dipper, looking in the distance, could see the faint and flickering orange glow of the Shack windows.

“I thought that Leaderaur banished me from the cave?” asked Dipper, confusedly.

“He reconsidered his opinion after he saw you defeat an interdimensional chaos god,” shrugged Chutzpar. “It took him a while, but I think he’s coming around to you.”

“Well, that’s good news,” replied Dipper, starting to fidget as they drew closer to the Shack. “How’s Beardy?”

“He shaved,” sighed Chutzpar. “He’s Stubbly now.” Dipper was unable to contain a laugh, which Chutzpar echoed loudly.

In response, Pacifica opened her eyes again, disgruntled. She wanted to rest, and found the boys’ laughter disturbing. However, when she saw Dipper looking ahead of them, she followed his gaze and saw the illuminated parking lot of the Shack. The thought of the warmth within filled her with renewed energy.

The moon cast the building in a silver glow as the trees overhead thinned out and stopped. The roof of the Shack, which had partially collapsed during the shapeshifter attack, had been covered in a thick blue tarp.

Chutzpar approached the porch and set Dipper down. He stumbled briefly, but soon regained his balance. His feet were still bare, and had gone almost completely numb from the cold.

Pacifica was set down next to Dipper—however, the moment she touched the boards, with Dipper’s shoes dangling loosely from her feet, her legs buckled and collapsed. She reached out to grab her boyfriend, who immediately picked her up. Despite his own exhaustion, Dipper was able to easily keep her off of the ground.

Behind them, Dipper heard the porch door open. Ford and Mabel rushed out, surrounding them. Mabel’s eyes seemed brighter, able to relax now that the shapeshifter threat had been eliminated. Ford’s chest was slightly bulkier than before, bandages wrapped around the dozens of pinprick stab wounds left by the monster.

“Pacifica!” shouted Mabel, running around and grabbing the blonde’s hand. “Are you okay? You’re freezing! What happened?” Pacifica winced at the barrage of questions.

“Calm down, Mabel,” Dipper cautioned, looking at his sister sternly. “She’s fine. She just needs to get warmed up.”

“You got it!” replied Mabel, immediately reaching out and picking Pacifica up and out of Dipper’s arms. She turned and, carrying the blonde, returned to the heated living room. Dipper stood there for a moment in shock, always surprised at how strong Mabel was.

“Dipper, are you okay?” asked Ford, clasping his hand onto his nephew’s shoulder. “You were gone for so long that I was about to drive out after you.”

“Yeah, Grunkle Ford,” answered Dipper, still shivering. “Thanks to these guys.” Dipper turned and looked back out at the three manotaurs who had saved them from the cold—Chutzpar stood in the center, flanked by Pituitaur and Testosteraur. “Paz and I were about to freeze, but they carried us out of the woods.”

“The manotaurs!” exclaimed Ford, walking out into the snow to greet them. “Thank you for rescuing my nephew and Ms. Northwest. I would be honored if I could visit your cave sometime.”

“Hey,” said Testosteraur, leaning forwards and sniffing Ford, who drew back in a mild panic. “I remember this guy! We threw him out of the cave for being a nerd!” Chutzpar and Pituitaur took a deep breath, nodding in agreement.

“I’ll tell you what, old man,” said Chutzpar, kneeling down and poking Ford in the chest, who stumbled backwards in response. “If you do anything half as many as the Destructor here, and we’ll welcome you with open arms!” Ford rubbed his chest, half in pain and half in embarrassment.

“We’ll figure something out,” announced Dipper to the manotaurs, stepping forwards. “Thanks for saving us,” he continued. “We would have been toast without you.”

“An ice cube, more like,” laughed Chutzpar. “Anything for you, Destructor. If you ever need help again, just make sure to stink!”

“That won’t be much of a problem,” snickered Mabel, poking her head out the door to check on her brother and grunkle. “I’m making some soup in here if you guys want any!”

“No thank you, tiny, slightly-less-manly version of the Destructor!” replied Chutzpar, holding up his hands graciously. “We’ve got a cow roasting back at the man cave. Speaking of which, brothers, we better get back if we want it rare!”

Pituitaur and Testosteraur cheered in response, pumping their fists into the air. Chutzpar, waving back at Dipper and Ford, turned and took the lead again, forging a path through the snow as the manotaurs back into the woods. Dipper sighed as they receded into the trees, before turning and walking into the warmth of the Shack.

“Hey, what did they mean by ‘half as manly’?” asked Ford defensively as he followed Dipper in and closed the door behind him, latching all of the locks into place. “I’m manly. I’m a male man.”

“I don’t know,” replied Dipper, walking into the living room and looking around. “Just do something they think is heroic and you’ll be fine. But don’t ever ask them to play board games.”

Since Dipper had rushed out into the freezing night to look for Pacifica, the remaining residents of the Shack had been busy restoring it to a state of normalcy. The central support pillar, saved by Stan’s herculean effort, remained solidly in place. Soos had begun the process of repairing his vertical wall supports—two of them were already complete, and he was hard at work on the third. Wendy was helping him hold up the boards, her axe safely back in its sheath on her hip.

The Christmas tree, which had fallen down in the chaos, had been mounted back to the ceiling. The presents beneath it, though they were scored and crumpled around the edges, had been placed back in a small pile. The lights, strung between the pine branches, twinkled merrily.

Mabel was in the kitchen, stirring a large pot of soup. The aroma of cooking chicken and onions filled the air, accompanied by the gentle bubbling simmer of golden broth, filled to the brim with noodles. Melody stood next to her, slowly adjusting the heat and shaking her head whenever Mabel reached for the bag of sugar.

Stan sat in his chair, rubbing his shoulder. His ribs were still wrapped tightly, and holding the main pillar in place hadn’t don’t him any favors. Still, he had a contented smile on his face as he lounged in the cushions and reveled in the heat of the fire. The white axolotl seemed to enjoy the heat as well, basking in its bowl as its external gills waved in the water.

Pacifica sat in front of the fire, resting on the pile of Mabel’s sweaters that had previously held Waddles. The pig was sitting in the blonde’s lap, snorting gently as she scratched his ears. Her white jacket, damp from the snow, had been cast to the side. She had pulled Dipper’s socks and shoes off of her feet, and was gently wiggling her toes as the warm pink hue returned to her skin.

Dipper looked down, realizing that he was still barefoot. He shivered, almost on instinct, and plopped down in the pile of knit fabric next to Pacifica. She stopped petting Waddles and reached out to take her boyfriend’s hand—he took it gladly, happy to feel the restored heat of her skin.

Waddles opened his eyes to see who had interrupted his scratches—seeing Dipper, he stood and hopped off of Pacifica’s lap. He turned and settled down in between the two of them, forcing their hands apart and allowing each of them to pet him at the same time. Unable to argue, both Dipper and Pacifica started to rub his ears. He had earned it.

“So, you got rescued by the cow monsters?” asked Stan, Dipper and Pacifica turning to look at him. He appeared genuinely curious. “What happened to your truck?”

“Yeah, what about Francine?” asked Pacifica, turning to look at him. Dipper’s face fell as the reality of what had happened to her sank in.

“She’s gone,” sighed Dipper sadly.

“What do you mean, gone?” asked Pacifica worriedly. “She didn’t just vanish, did she?”

“No,” replied Dipper, reliving the terrifying moments of feeling the tires lose all traction, momentum carrying him headfirst into the fallen tree. “There was black ice, and I crashed into the tree. Francine’s totaled.”

“Oh, dude,” said Wendy sympathetically, looking across the room. “I’m sorry. You really liked that truck.”

“She was great,” acknowledged Dipper.

“That tree really screwed us both over,” laughed Pacifica lightly, trying to leaven the mood. It should have been a time for celebration, but the weight of what had happened over the past two days still rested heavily on everyone’s minds.

“Where’s the truck now?” asked Ford, entering the living room. “We need to empty the toolbox before anyone else gets to it.”

“She’s still on the road,” Dipper said, waving his hand in the general direction of the door. “But I wouldn’t worry about it tonight. Like I said, there’s ice on the road. And the toolbox is sealed with multiple locks. Both with normal keys, and biometric sensors.”

“I didn’t give you a toolbox that fancy,” said Ford, confused. “Did you build it yourself?”

“Yeah,” replied Dipper, smiling. “I wanted to make sure that everything was safe.”

“I’m impressed,” said Ford, proud to see his nephew’s forethought and engineering skills. “You’ll have to show me how you did that. I’m always looking to make the _Stan of War II_ safer.”

“No problem,” chuckled Dipper. “Tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Ford grunted, walking over to the living room table and sitting down. “Tomorrow.” He breathed deeply—the injuries that the shapeshifter had given him were still fresh, and were making it difficult to move.

“Hey, Dipper,” began Mabel, walking into living room bearing two steaming bowls of chicken noodle soup. “How are we going to get home if Francine’s busted up?” Dipper and Pacifica extended their hands and took the bowls gratefully, wrapping their hands around them and savoring in the warmth of the ceramic before they started eating.

“I don’t know,” shrugged Dipper as Mabel knelt down next to the pile of sweaters. “I guess we could go to Gideon’s dad and get a used car. Just to get us back home.”

“Eww, no,” replied Mabel, crinkling her nose. “That little shyster still creeps me out.” Stan smiled at her use of the proper terminology.

“Come on, Mabel,” chided Pacifica, leaning forward as she stirred her soup. “I’m sure Gideon could get you a pretty nice discount.” The blonde smiled as she took a sip of the broth—it was salty and rich, filling her with a blooming warmth as she snuggled deeper into the mountain of fabric and against Dipper’s shoulder. Waddles, caught between Dipper and Pacifica, didn’t complain.

Mabel looked at Pacifica in disbelief, astonished and appalled at what she was hearing. Pacifica, caught off guard at Mabel’s expression, broke out into laughter, careful not to spill her soup.

“I’m kidding,” she said, smiling as Mabel’s face returned to normal. “If you can’t work something out, I can always drive you back. It would give me a chance to visit Piedmont for a little bit, and actually meet your parents.”

“Our parents are in Nebraska with our potentially Amish aunt right now,” replied Mabel, shaking her head before a mischievous grin spread across her face. “But, if you wanted to use the opportunity to sneak in some alone time with your man, I wouldn’t blame you.”

Dipper choked on his soup at Mabel’s comment, with both Mabel and Pacifica snickering in response. Waddles looked about at the disturbance, but soon laid his head back down.

“Come on Mabel,” said Stan, raising his hands as he came to his nephew’s defense. “Are the rest of us going to get any soup, or what?” Dipper was surprised yet again at having his grunkle save him from further embarrassment—when he turned around, Stan gave him an understanding wink.

“Right!” exclaimed Mabel, hopping to her feet and rushing back into the kitchen. Given a brief reprieve from the questioning, Dipper and Pacifica sat together in silence as they ate their soup, basking in the warmth of the fire, the people around them, and each other.

Pacifica yawned. Despite sleeping for a long time last night, the ordeal that she had been through had caused her exhaustion to return. Dipper echoed the yawn as Mabel returned with more food.

“Thanks, sweetie,” said Stan as he took one of the bowls and gently blew on it. Soos, satisfied with the third wall support, stepped away from it and nodded with pride. Wendy let go of the boards and rubbed her eyes. She was having a harder time than the others readjusting to a calm atmosphere.

Still, when Mabel passed a bowl of hot soup into her hands, the redhead smiled warmly and carried it over to the living room table, where she sat down next to Ford.

Dipper and Pacifica looked at each other—they could see in each other’s eyes that they both wanted to rest. The energy they had had earlier, wanting more than anything to kiss and tear at each other’s clothes, had vanished with the cold. Now, they simply wished to share in the warmth, and sleep long and deep.

“Hey Paz,” Mabel said, walking back into the room with two more bowls. This time, Melody followed her with two bowls as well. “I thought that you were the one who was supposed to be bringing Dipper soup. Since when is it my job?”

Pacifica rolled her eyes, thinking back to the conversation she had had with Mabel in Seattle. She had been through too much lately to worry about making soup for anyone else. Still, she smiled as an idea crossed her mind.

Gently reaching out, she traded bowls of soup with Dipper. They were each half empty by this point, and the spoons were used—but, they had kissed so much before that neither Dipper nor Pacifica cared.

“There,” she smirked at Mabel as the brunette sat down at the living room table, joining Ford, Wendy, Soos, and Melody. “We each gave each other soup. Are you happy now?”

“Yes,” smiled Mabel cheerfully, her eyes sparkling in the flickering of the fire. She didn’t attack her soup with a spoon, instead lifting the bowl to her lips and loudly slurping the broth. Melody, surprisingly, ate with equal vigor.

“I’m excited,” announced Mabel, lightly bouncing in her seat. “It’s been a stressful few days, but tomorrow is Christmas morning!”

“You can’t open your presents tonight,” scoffed Stan as he picked through his soup to find the largest chunk of chicken. “So don’t even ask.”

“Can I open one, Mr. Pines?” Soos asked, his eyes hopeful as Mabel’s face filled with disappointment.

“No,” Melody answered, Soos’s face falling to match Mabel’s. However, a quick kiss on the cheek from Melody restored his happiness.

As everyone chatted among themselves and ate, Dipper and Pacifica looked back at each other—happy and safe. Waddles basked in the warmth between them.

“Would you like to go to sleep?” asked Dipper, whispering to her. Pacifica nodded in response, putting her bowl of soup down on the floor and leaning over Waddles, tucking her face into Dipper’s shoulder. The red lines left behind by the goggles had almost completely faded.

Waddles got to his feet and squirmed forward, inching up to Pacifica’s bowl. He buried his face in it gladly, and started eating what she had left behind.

“Okay,” said Dipper, smiling as he added the remains of his bowl to Waddles’s. Slowly, he got to his feet and extended a hand to help Pacifica up. She stumbled as she rose, but soon regained her stability.

“Soos,” Dipper asked as he wrapped his arms around Pacifica. “Did you clean up the attic hallway?”

“Oh, yeah dudes,” Soos replied, glancing up at the ceiling. “I put a tarp over the hole in the roof, but the attic should still be plenty warm. I shoveled out all the snow that came in, but that big beam is still there.”

“We’ll duck under it,” smiled Dipper as he headed for the stairs. “We need to get some rest.”

“Yeah, ‘rest,’” Stan commented to himself, causing Mabel and Wendy to snort with laughter.

“Yeah,” Pacifica said to the room, emphatically redirecting everyone's attention. “Rest.”

“Oh, and I vacuumed up the shards of Pacifica’s corpse!” called Soos after them. Pacifica raised her head confusedly, but Dipper just shook his head. The details of the shapeshifter fight could wait until later, when there was more energy in their limbs and the bags under their eyes had decreased.

Together, Dipper and Pacifica walked up the stairs and turned onto the attic hallway. They both looked up in wonder at the massive hole in the roof, which the shapeshifter had torn on his way down to the lab. The tarp was stretched across the Shack so tightly that only the faintest breeze from the outside was able to creep in.

Dipper placed his hand on Pacifica’s head, helping her underneath the obstructing beam. He ducked after her, heading towards the attic door.

“Wait,” Pacifica said, pausing in front of the upstairs bathroom door. “Let me take my contacts out first.”

“Do you have your glasses?” asked Dipper, leaning against the doorframe as Pacifica flipped the lights on.

“They were in my bag,” replied Pacifica, blinking repeatedly as she leaned up to the mirror. “So, I guess not. The shapeshifter probably threw it out in the snow somewhere.”

“No, it brought your bag in,” smiled Dipper as Pacifica took out the plastic lenses. He looked away as she did so, finding it extremely uncomfortable to look at. “They should still be in there.”

“Well, that’s some good news,” Pacifica answered, continuing to blink as she threw her contacts into the trash. She grabbed ahold of Dipper as she turned the lights off and stepped into the hallway, needing him to both guide and support her.

Dipper slowly walked into the attic, closing the door behind them as Pacifica walked to his bed, knowing the way from memory. Seeing the vague silhouette of her bag, she opened it and fumbled inside for her glasses.

Finding the hard shelled case, she opened it and placed the frames over her ears. She turned to face Dipper in the moonlight.

Dipper smiled as he walked towards her, looking at her eyes—they were hers. Just a few short hours before, he had been in this room with a fake version of his girlfriend. But now, she was real, and shone radiantly—her crystalline blue eyes sparkled as brightly and deeply as he remembered them to. Even if the shapeshifter had seen her eyes, Dipper wasn’t sure if it would have been able to replicate them in all of their luminous complexity.

Pacifica patted the bed next to her as she bounced lightly on the mattress, feeling the gentle give of the soft supporting springs. It wasn’t as plush or as comfortable as her bed back home, of course, but it was an improvement over the forest floor.

As Dipper walked over to her, he reached up and pulled his shirt off, exposing his chest. Pacifica grinned eagerly—she didn’t have the energy to do the things with Dipper that she wanted to, knowing the limits of her own body, but she was still able to revel in the touch of his skin. However, as his torso was exposed to the moonlight, Pacifica’s jaw dropped.

A large stripe of bruises ran diagonally across his chest. He winced as he stepped forward, reaching up to touch the bandages wrapped around his upper arm. It was then that he realized his arm was still damaged, the stitches torn free during his encounter with the shapeshifter. Leaving the stitches loose wouldn’t hurt anything for one night, but the fresh blood would leave behind large crimson stains.

“Gah,” Dipper grunted as he stopped walking. “I need to take care of this. I’m going to go back downstairs and get Ford to fix me up.”

“Come over here,” gestured Pacifica, standing up and walking over to the first aid supplies, which remained exactly where she had tossed them last night. Picking them up, she sat back down next to Dipper and began unspooling the bandages. “I know Ford’s a doctor, but when it comes to medical care, I trust myself more than I trust him.”

“Thanks, Paz,” said Dipper, grimacing as Pacifica used an antiseptic wipe to clean away the freshly spilled blood. The wound had been reopened so many times by this point that the spiral of bandages was beginning to protrude a good distance from Dipper’s arm. “You’re a much better nurse than Mabel, too.”

“I would hope so,” Pacifica smiled, binding his arm in new, reassuringly white material. As she did so, however, a shaft of moonlight shone onto Dipper’s back.

As shocked as she had been from the bruises on his chest, the ones on his back were far worse. On his left side, a large splotch the size of a small dinner plate glistened in various shades of black and blue. Running the entire length of spine were similar spots, though they were a little less colorful and had less of a clear pattern to them.

“Dipper,” she whispered breathlessly. “What did that monster do to you?” She reached out to touch the dark spot on his side, but quickly withdrew when he winced.

“I haven’t seen my back,” he chuckled to himself before coughing. “But whatever’s back there is probably from when the shapeshifter threw me into Mabel’s bed. He hit me here,” he continued, pointing at the spot on his side, “but this bruise on my chest is all my fault. That’s from the seatbelt when Francine crashed.”

“Francine protected you to the end,” Pacifica smiled sadly. She hated to see him hurting, but knew there was only so much that she could do to help bruising. However, an idea flashed through her mind about how she could help with the pain.

“Lay down,” she ordered Dipper, with all the authority of a medical professional.

“Face up or face down?” asked Dipper wearily, too tired to ask why.

“Face down,” Pacifica answered, reaching into her bag and pulling out a tube of hand lotion. “I can’t make you heal any faster, but this should at least help how you feel.”

“Okay, Dr. Northwest,” chuckled Dipper, flopping down onto the bed and supporting his head with a pillow. “Do whatever you like.”

“Let me know if this hurts,” said Pacifica, kneeling next to his broad back as she rubbed a quarter-sized dollop of lotion into her hands.

Tentatively, she reached forwards and placed her slim fingers on Dipper’s back, massaging his tense muscles with steady, symmetrical motions. Dipper sighed and shuddered in relief at the sensation, feeling anxiety and worry melt away at Pacifica’s touch.

She was careful to avoid the bruises, not wanting to break any more blood vessels and make the damage worse. She ranged up from his shoulders to the small of his back, alternating between forceful pressure and the gentle scratching of her fingernails dragging against his skin.

She paid particular attention to the scars that marred his body—the muscles around them were still tense and coiled, ready to react. Under Pacifica’s touch, they loosened and released. Dipper’s breathing became progressively easier.

Whenever she found a particularly rough and tight patch of muscle, she focused on it and broke it apart with tender, yet strong, motions, causing Dipper to groan in relief.

She placed her hands, spreading like a butterfly, on the small of his back, massaging with her thumbs in small, deep circles. She swallowed—the elastic band of Dipper’s underwear was visible above the hemline of his pants, but she didn’t want to overexert him, or herself.

Instead, she leaned forwards and gently placed her lips between his shoulder blades, tracing a line of tender kisses all the way up to the back of his neck. Reaching his hair, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and simply laid her torso down on his back, applying a soft and steady pressure.

“You’re pretty good at that,” Dipper mumbled into his pillow, causing Pacifica to smile at the compliment. She was glad. After a few moments, however, Dipper began to move, forcing Pacifica to sit back up as an expression of confusion crossed her face.

“Now you lay down,” said Dipper, stretching as he sat up. His face seemed brighter and happier, simply because of Pacifica’s touch.

Pacifica blushed as she hopped up fully onto the bed and extended her legs. She didn’t have bruises like Dipper, but she wouldn’t turn down a massage.

“Just so you know,” began Dipper, applying lotion to his hands as well, “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“That’s okay,” replied Pacifica, smiling as she felt Dipper brush her hair aside. “I’ll enjoy it no matter what.”

Her breath hitched as she felt Dipper’s large hands plant themselves on her shoulder blades, fingers and palms flexing with energy and force. Despite the fact that she still wore the dress she had put on after Dipper had spilled champagne on her, she could feel every movement he made.

Slowly, he rubbed her shoulders, spreading a smile over her face. His hands danced down to her waist, deftly avoiding the strap of her bra. He rocked her hips back and forth, digging his thumbs into the small of her back as he tried to mirror what Pacifica had done for him.

“Umm…” Dipper started, unsure of how to phrase his question.

“What?” Pacifica smiled, already knowing what he was going to ask.

“I… I think that I might be able to do a better job if you take the dress off,” Dipper choked out, swallowing.

“Take it off, then,” Pacifica mumbled, her heart thrilling as she heard herself speak the words. It was such a casual, easy thing to say to the man that she trusted.

She could feel her heart pounding in her ears as Dipper’s hands reached up for the zipper on her back and pulled it down, the gentle scratch of the metal clasps filling the room. She then felt his hands at her shoulders, the arm holes, and the skirt, unsure of how to take it off.

“I think you might need to get up,” Dipper said uncertainly, fumbling his words. 

“Took you long enough to figure that out,” smiled Pacifica, though she inwardly wondered how long she could have kept Dipper confused. She quietly rolled to her feet and stood up, turning around to face him in the darkened room.

With a calm rustle, she pulled her arms into the dress and let it fall to the floor. Dipper’s eyes, shining in the moonlight, grew wide.

She interlaced her fingers, unsure of what to do as he looked at her, astonished. She wore her deeply blue underwear, lacing patterns of silk supporting her body and standing darkly against the pale glow of her skin. Her breathing became faster as Dipper stood up and stepped over to her.

Placing his hands on her waist, he drew her up and to his lips—she tilted her head back breathlessly, pressing deep into the kiss. Now that she had spent time in the warmth of the Shack, her lips had started to return to their normal softness. Pacifica wrapped her arms around his neck as he pulled a few inches away.

“How long have you been wearing those?” he asked, spinning around and causing Pacifica to laugh. 

“I put them on after my impromptu champagne bath,” Pacifica smiled. “They weren’t that good for keeping warm in the woods, though—I would have put on long underwear if I had known.”

“Well, I wouldn’t complain about long johns either,” smirked Dipper as he picked Pacifica up, causing her to yelp in excited surprise. “But I also really like these. Really, _really_ like these.”

“I’m glad,” replied Pacifica, kissing him again as he set her down on the bed. She flipped onto her stomach, allowing Dipper access to her back. “I thought you might enjoy them.”

Dipper didn’t respond, instead returning his hands to Pacifica’s back. This time, she gasped at his touch. Without the fabric of her dress in the way, she could feel every bump and ridge on his fingers as he massaged her.

His hands were large enough that they almost completely spanned her shoulders, fingers running in miniscule circles over her ribcage. She was sure that he could feel her heartbeat as his hands danced down to her waist—she was only wearing her panties, and almost wanted him to go farther.

However, she didn’t complain as his nails scraped back up to her bra, and undid the clasps of the back strap—only fumbling slightly in the process. She felt his hands where the strap had once been, running easily up and down the smooth pale skin of her back.

“Awfully bold, aren’t we?” smiled Pacifica into the pillow. She could feel the edges of her body starting to go numb—not from cold this time, but pleasure.

“Just tell me and I’ll stop,” whispered Dipper as he massaged the back of her neck, digging his fingers deeply into the crevice between her shoulder blades. With a pop, her back cracked, sending a jolt of pain through her, before a rush of relief and ecstasy.

“Don’t you dare,” she laughed in delight as she felt Dipper place both hands on her waist, and then the warm and vibrant pressure of his torso against hers.

His lips scraped her smooth skin as he kissed her, starting at the small of her back before making his way up her spine. As he reached her neck, she shivered in elation.

She gave a jolt of surprise and delight as she felt Dipper lay down on the bed next to her and take her by the waist, gently spinning her over to face him. In the process, her bra slipped from her shoulders and was lost in the tangle of their bodies, but Pacifica hardly noticed.

She reached up, grabbing Dipper by the shoulders and pulling her face to his, trapping him in a kiss. Their lips met for what seemed an eternity, yet no time at all.

A deeply contented smile spread across Pacifica’s face as she drew away from the kiss and laid her head on Dipper’s chest, his right arm pulling her closely into him. Pacifica’s right hand, meanwhile, spun through the beginnings of Dipper’s chest hair. There already seemed to be more than there was the last time she had checked.

Dipper looked down at her, meeting her smile with his. He looked into her eyes, reveling in the warm frost of her gaze.

Then, with his foot, he kicked the crumpled blanket at the bottom of the bed up to his hands. With a single powerful flourish, he spread the fabric over them, trapping their heat as Pacifica pulled herself up to his face again, supporting herself with her elbow.

“What’s this for?” she asked, gently running her hand across the blanket. “You’re plenty warm enough for me.”

“This is for if Mabel walks in,” smiled Dipper, shaking his head. “I don’t think she will, but just in case.” 

“Good thinking,” smirked Pacifica, breathing deeply. She much preferred Dipper’s scent to that of the manotaurs. “She doesn’t need any more ammunition.”

Dipper opened his mouth to respond, but was unable to get a sound out before Pacifica had wrapped her hands around his face, and drawn his lips to hers.


	27. Morning

“I hope you’re decent!” announced Mabel, before kicking in the door to the attic. She walked in carrying Waddles as Dipper and Pacifica opened their eyes, blinking blearily in the sunlight.

Luckily for Mabel, they were sufficiently clothed—before falling asleep, Pacifica had pulled on one of Dipper’s white shirts, covering herself. A blanket was draped across their lower halves, obscuring the fact that they were both only wearing underwear.

“Jesus, Mabel,” said Dipper, sitting up and rubbing his eyes in an attempt to clear the sleep from them. Pacifica did the same, groaning as she sat up. Dipper reached over to his nightstand and picked up her glasses, passing them over to her. Pacifica put them on gratefully, slipping them in between her ears and disheveled hair. “Could you maybe show a little self-control?”

“I’ve been awake since seven AM, and it is currently nine-thirty,” pouted Mabel. Waddles squirmed in her arms, recovering well from his injury. “Stan isn’t letting me open presents until you two get up, so you’d better get moving.”

“The presents aren’t going anywhere, Mabel,” chastised Pacifica, shaking her head. She realized that she wasn’t wearing her bra, and started to panic before she remembered that she was wearing Dipper’s shirt. Under the blanket, she fumbled around and found the underwear tucked beneath her hips. She breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that it wasn’t where Mabel could see it.

“And breakfast is almost ready,” continued Mabel, rolling her eyes. If presents wouldn’t motivate the couple, perhaps the prospect of their hot food getting cold would.

“Well, breakfast does sound pretty good,” replied Pacifica, stretching her arms out. As she did so, Dipper’s shirt lifted up. However, he was so much taller than her that her stomach remained completely covered.

“I thought you’d say that,” smiled Mabel, turning around and exiting the attic room. “We’ll be expecting you shortly,” she announced, overly formal as she closed the door behind her.

Left alone, Pacifica turned to find Dipper looking at her with a drunken smile on his face—far more pleasant than the ones that had been plastered on the faces of her parents the previous night.

“What?” she asked, unable to keep from smiling as well.

“Just being here with you,” answered Dipper, reaching out and grabbing her by the waist, bringing her to him. Lifting her legs, she straddled his legs and wrapped her hands into his hair, pulling him closer.

“It’s nice,” Pacifica replied, happily. “I finally feel warm.” She leaned in and hugged him.

“Very warm,” Dipper echoed, squeezing back before pulling away and looking her up and down. “I like you in my shirt.”

“I know,” Pacifica grinned. “That’s why I put it on. And also as Mabel protection.”

“Well, it served that role very well,” confirmed Dipper, hands resting lightly on her hips. “I also like what you’re doing with your hair.”

“Oh?” asked Pacifica, looking up to see the frizzle of blonde strands overhead. “You were the one who did this,” she playfully accused.

“My handiwork is good, then,” smirked Dipper, gently moving his hands to Pacifica’s cheeks before kissing her yet again. He felt the cool plastic of her glasses against his skin, the lenses lightly fogging up in the heat of their breath.

“I don’t mind it,” answered Pacifica, leaning back and sighing. “Though, I guess we should probably get ready before Mabel comes back up and drags us downstairs.”

“Yeah…” Dipper replied, helping Pacifica lift her legs as she stepped off of the bed and onto the squeaking floorboards. He couldn’t keep his eyes from tracing the curve her thighs made with her waist, a smooth line only broken by her oceanic underwear. “Waiting downstairs for an hour and a half before getting us actually showed great restraint on her part.”

“Hey,” Pacifica began, pointing down to the scorch mark on the floor. “That wasn’t there the night before last. What is it?”

“That,” Dipper mumbled, “is the blast from where Melody shot at me when I was fighting the shapeshifter.”

“She shot at you?” asked Pacifica, horrified.

“Don’t hold it against her,” cautioned Dipper, slowly swinging his legs out into the open air. “The situation looked really bad.” Pacifica looked from the hole in the floorboards up to his face, and then back again before finally shrugging and returning to her business.

Grunting, Dipper launched himself to his feet. They both started to rummage through their bags, looking for their clothes for the day. Dipper stepped into a loose pair of jeans, coupled with black socks. He pulled a green shirt over his torso, careful as he avoided touching the sensitive bruises.

Pacifica reached beneath the blanket on the bed to find her bra. Despite everything that she had been through in the underwear, it had held up remarkably well. Taking off Dipper’s shirt and tossing it to the side, already having one at the Manor, she pulled the bra back on.

Unfortunately, it was one of the tightest ones that she owned—she couldn’t clasp it in the front and then spin it around like she usually did.

“Hey Dipper,” she began, turning around. “Could you help put me back in?”

“No problem,” said Dipper, walking over to her and grabbing the two straps, causing Pacifica’s breath to hitch as he pulled them together. It wasn’t too tight, but it was still a shock as she was forced back into the confines of the fabric.

“You know,” said Dipper slyly, peering closely as he tried to fit the hooks and loops together, “I would much rather take this off than put it back on.”

“Well,” blushed Pacifica, “based on how long you’re taken to close it, I’d say that you’re probably better at taking it off.” Dipper’s face turned red with hers, his fastening skills having been playfully insulted.

“There,” Dipper finally announced after a few additional seconds of intense concentration. “That should be right.”

“I think so,” said Pacifica, spinning around to make sure that everything was in its proper place. Confirming that it was, she then reached into her bag and pulled out a red shirt with a v-neckline. She struggled to put it on over the explosive volume of her hair, but had soon pulled it down. As she did so, her hair started to collapse, making it much easier to bind together into a loose ponytail.

Sitting back down on Dipper’s bed, she pulled on a pair of black leggings, letting her shirt drape loosely over the hem. She then reached back down into her bag to find a pair of socks—however, the first thing she touched wasn’t socks, but her freshly modified llama-hair sweater.

Smiling, Pacifica pulled it out and over herself, now sliding easily into it. Even her ponytail passed easily through it, the sleeves falling to a perfect length and the fabric gently pinching in around her waist.

“Hey Dipper,” she said, turning to face her boyfriend. “What do you think of this?”

She spun around as Dipper’s gaze turned to her. As she stopped, however, the momentum of her ponytail carried itself around and smacked her directly in the face. She doubled over in shock, spitting out hair as Dipper laughed.

“I think that you need to work on your coordination,” he smirked as Pacifica bent over and, picking up his crumpled t-shirt, threw it at him. He batted it aside playfully. “But, I didn’t think that one of Mabel’s sweaters could ever look…” he stammered, trying to find the word.

“Sexy?” Pacifica offered, cocking out her hip and batting her eyelashes.

“I was going to say ‘attractive,’” Dipper swallowed. It was Pacifica’s turn to laugh at him—even after everything they had done, he still became flustered when talking about such things, even if it was just with her.

“’Attractive’ works too,” Pacifica replied, sitting back down on Dipper’s bed and finally pulling on a pair of socks—they were thick and woolen, with an image of a moose woven into the fabric. The knit was neither as tight nor as warm as the llama sweater, but the socks were comfortable nonetheless.

“Ready?” Dipper asked, helping Pacifica to her feet with a single smooth pull.

“Not yet,” answered Pacifica, grabbing Dipper’s hips and pulling herself to him, stepping up and into a kiss. “There,” she continued, stepping away. “Now I’m ready.”

“So am I,” smiled Dipper, taking Pacifica’s hand and opening the attic door. Together, they advanced down the hallway, ducking under the fallen beam and confirming that the tarp on the roof still held firm.

The aroma of sizzling bacon and French toast pressed against a buttered griddle drifted up from downstairs, filling their steps with energy as they bounded down the stairs—they wanted food more than they wanted presents.

The ground outside was still covered in a thick layer of snow, crusted over with ice that had formed during the night. However, the wind and rain had completely stopped, and the sun shone brightly in the sky, the light bouncing off the snow suffusing through the Shack and filling it with a bright shine.

Dipper briefly looked out the window, instinctively looking for Francine before he remembered what had happened. He shook his head to try and clear the thoughts of his truck away. He could get another one, but he would save that worry for later. As for now, it was Christmas morning, and he wanted to spend the time with the people he cared about.

Mabel and Melody had returned to the kitchen, sharing the responsibility of preparing breakfast. A plate of bacon sat on the table, covered with a paper towel that was slowly absorbing all of the excess grease.

Melody stood in front of an electric griddle, using a spatula to turn pieces of French toast. Mabel was off to the side, watching intensely as Melody worked. Whenever Melody moved a piece of toast to a waiting plate, Mabel quickly dredged a new piece of bread in the spiced egg mixture and placed it onto the empty space with a sizzle. Waiting on the table were two bottles of syrup—one maple, one corn—and a large box of powdered sugar. A colander sat in the sink next to the lobster, filled with freshly washed blueberries and strawberries.

Ford, Stan, Soos, and Wendy all sat in the living room, lounging around the table in light conversation. Mabel’s mattress had been pushed up against the wall, and Waddles sat in the very center of it, his eyes awake and alert. The television was on, the news playing lightly playing in the background—now, however, the undeniable centerpiece of the room was the upside down Christmas tree.

It seemed as though the presents beneath it had multiplied overnight, now forming a small mountain that almost reached the tip of the tree. Soos, Melody, the Stans, and Wendy must have kept their gifts hidden away until it was time to open them, making the atmosphere all the more magical. Pacifica smiled, seeing how challenging it must have been for Mabel to tamp down her excitement and let her and Dipper sleep.

“Here are the two lovebirds!” chided Stan as they walked into the room. They both rolled their eyes in unison.

“Good morning, Grunkle Stan,” Dipper answered as he sat down at the living room table, Pacifica sitting next to him.

“Pacifica,” began Ford, immediately skipping through the pleasantries to speak with her. “Have you recovered from your unfortunate refrigeration?”

“I think so,” she said coolly, looking herself up and down. Within the confines of the modified sweater, her arms were toasty warm. “It was rough out there, but Dipper pulled me through.” She took Dipper’s hand as she spoke, holding it beneath the table.

“Well, I think the manotaurs also get some credit,” Dipper replied, not wanting to inflate his heroics. “All I did was charge into the woods like an idiot. They’re the ones who carried us out.”

“But you’re the one who kept me warm,” pointed out Pacifica. Stan gagged mockingly in response.

“Come on, Stan,” said Wendy pointedly. “Just because you’re old and dried out doesn’t mean that you get to make fun of young love.”

“Hey, jerky isn’t bad!” replied Stan. “I mean, it’s no twelve-ounce steak, but it’s not bad.”

“As a survival food, perhaps,” mumbled Ford. “But not as a routine snack.”

“I will have you know, Sixer, that jerky is both nutritious and delicious!” Stan fired back, slamming his fists on the table.

“Dipper,” Ford sighed, resigning himself to the debate as he saw Stan’s passion for the subject. “You break the tie. What’s your opinion on jerky?”

“I’ve got to say that I’m with Stan on this one,” replied Dipper, cocking his head to the side. “I mean, the taste isn’t bad, but it’s so high in sodium, and if you’re in your house you can just walk to the cabinets and get something else.”

“But you need sodium for the neurons in your brain to fire!” Ford said, exasperated. “I can’t believe this. I’ve been betrayed by my own protégé!”

“It’s jerky, Grunkle Ford,” Dipper replied, trying to stay calm. “It’s not the end of the world.” As he spoke, Wendy stood up and walked over to the other side of the table.

“You don’t know the things I’ve seen!” bellowed Ford as Wendy placed her hand on Pacifica’s shoulder.

“Come on,” Wendy whispered into the blonde’s ear. “Let’s go talk and leave the men to their jerky debate.”

“I think that we should consider the benefits of peanut butter,” announced Soos, adding to the conversation as Pacifica stood up and followed Wendy.

Pacifica was confused, and filled with trepidation. Her last encounter with Wendy had ended in tears, as the redhead rolled out the scroll of her ancestor’s sins. Was there something that she had forgotten?

Together, they ducked into the kitchen to join Mabel and Melody. The two were so focused on their French toast, however, that they weren’t paying enough attention to the girls to overhear their conversation. Mabel, however, glanced up and smiled when she saw Pacifica wearing the modified llama sweater.

“Look,” Wendy said, whispering as she leaned up against the outside wall. “I’m sorry. That night you came down and talked to me, I snapped. I shouldn’t have been so… aggressive.”

“Well, you were right,” replied Pacifica, casting her head down in shame. She was surprised to hear the redhead apologize, but that didn’t change the reality of what had been said. “Everything you said was right. I could tell that you had been holding that in for a while.”

“It felt good to finally get it out,” acknowledged Wendy, nodding her head. “But even if what I said was correct, I didn’t have to say it so rudely. I should have been more respectful of you.”

“I’m fine, Wendy,” grinned Pacifica, reaching out to squeeze the redhead’s hands reassuringly. “Compared to everything else that I’ve been through these past few days, it was actually a pretty calm discussion!” Wendy smiled weakly in response. Pacifica’s effort to lighten her mood hadn’t been successful.

“Still,” Wendy replied, “Even if everything was true, I want you to focus on the last thing I said, because I really meant it—you have changed. You’re not the girl I remember from all those summers ago. You’re better than you’ve ever been before, and you make Dipper better too.” Wendy smiled earnestly now, though the joy slipped from her face as she saw Pacifica turn and look at the griddle. Praising Pacifica’s transformation had only reminded her of who she had been before it.

“Yeah, well…” began Pacifica, struggling to find the words. “I’m not perfect. You were right. I saw that too… back at the Christmas party with Dipper, I felt parts of me that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Almost like being among that fancy dinner was dragging those emotions back out. I was proud of my status, and jealous of you. I’m still a Northwest.

“I don’t even know how to use that stupid griddle!” Pacifica sniffed, turning back to Wendy. “And I work in a diner!” She shrugged, exasperated. “Sometimes I just feel… trapped.”

“Pacifica,” said Wendy sternly, seeing the blonde share her weaknesses just as Wendy had done for her. “Listen to me. I’m a trained lumberjack, and I still don’t think I could do all the things that you’ve done. You haven’t just beaten your family—you’ve beaten yourself. You recognized that something was wrong with the way you were living, and you dove down within yourself to find that golden nugget of goodness.

“That’s the Pacifica I know,” continued Wendy, her hand on Pacifica’s shoulder. “That’s the Pacifica that helped to save the Shack, and protect Dipper from himself.” Pacifica, blinking back tears, looked up at the redhead’s freckled face. “Besides,” she continued, “I’m sure Dipper would be more than willing to show you how to make a grilled cheese.”

Pacifica looked up, nodded, and then stepped forward to wrap the taller girl in a hug. Wendy stood there in surprise for a moment, but then returned the gesture, pulling Pacifica tight against her.

“There will be no grilled cheese for breakfast!” Mabel announced, turning around from the counter holding a massive plate loaded with stacks and stacks of French toast.

“Lunch then,” whispered Wendy into Pacifica’s ear, causing the blonde to chuckle lightly as Mabel forged into the living room with breakfast. Pacifica turned and grabbed the two bottles of syrup on the table, while Wendy picked up the plate of bacon. Melody, knowing her cabinets well, grabbed a stack of plates and silverware. Together, they carried the supplies into the living room, where the table was still engrossed in lively discussion.

“I’m telling you,” said Ford, shaking his head, “there is more sodium in your average can of processed pasta sauce than there is in a bag of beef jerky!”

“Consider the serving sizes!” Dipper fired back defensively, though he was cut off as Mabel plopped the steaming plate of French toast onto the table.

“Breakfast is served!” Mabel announced, stopping the debate in its track as Soos, Ford, and Stan immediately refocused onto the food. Pacifica and Wendy added their contributions to the table as Melody started to pass out the tableware.

Pacifica soon recognized, however, that there wasn’t enough room around the table for all of them—only six chairs could fit. Dipper, realizing the same thing, stood up and stepped away from the table, allowing every adult a seat.

Wendy, Soos, Melody, Stan, and Ford sat down and started to dig in, using their utensils to pick of slices of toast and bacon. Wendy and Ford ate relatively little, but Soos, Melody, and Stan piled their plates high.

Only one chair remained empty, which Dipper gestured for Pacifica to take. She shook her head in response. If Dipper was going to have to sit somewhere else, she was going to sit with him.

The question of where to sit was answered by Mabel, who had quickly loaded her plate with the food she wanted. The slices of bread were almost complexly drowned in viscous brown syrup, and a massive pile of powdered sugar was slowly dissolving into it. Having her breakfast prepared, she simply walked next to the tree and crossed her legs, sitting down on the floor. Even though she could have sat at the table, she preferred being closer to the presents.

Pacifica looked at Dipper and shrugged. Even as a child, she had never eaten on the floor before. Doing so now would be a fun change of pace. The floor didn’t appear particularly clean, but she knew that it had recently been swept, after the shapeshifter attack. That was something, at least.

Together, she and Dipper picked up their plates and dragged the last few slices of French toast onto them. They both drizzled the real maple syrup over the toast, but only Pacifica added a slight sprinkling of snowy powdered sugar. The natural sweetness of the syrup was enough for Dipper.

They both walked in front of the television and sat down cross-legged, supporting their plates between their thighs. It would have been difficult to cut the toast with a knife, but it was soft enough for the edge of a fork to easily slide through the crust.

For a few minutes, everyone ate in silence. As nice as it had been to share soup last night, this felt different—everyone was well rested, and no one was recovering from a traumatic crash or kidnapping. This was the warmth of family and friends, felt every year as they gathered beneath the upside down tree. The fire only added to the sensation.

Dipper and Pacifica sat, shoulder to shoulder, simply reveling in being able to relax and to feel each other so closely. Pacifica, leaning over, quickly reached up to Dipper’s face and gave him a peck on the cheek. Melody smiled in the distance as Dipper took another blushing bite of his toast.

“Is it time for presents now?” asked Mabel enthusiastically, setting her empty plate to the side—she had completely devoured three slices of bacon and two slices of French toast, loaded with syrup and sugar, in less than four minutes.

“Fine,” grumbled Stan, eating slowly. “So long as you let us keep eating.” The other adults around the table gave nods of assent.

“Deal!” shouted Mabel, quickly doing a somersault and rolling up next to the pile of presents. “Dipper, this one’s for you!” As she spoke, she threw a small package towards Dipper, who had to quickly set his plate on the floor in order to catch it. He wanted to keep eating, but Mabel’s enthusiasm was infectious.

Mabel, finding a present with her name on it, plopped back down onto the carpet and tore into it. Dipper, moving more meticulously, eased the shiny bow off before attempting to pull apart the paper.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to Pacifica as he opened the gift, trying his best to separate the pieces of tape without ripping the paper. “I don’t think that anyone else here has a present for you,” he mumbled. “You’re still not technically part of the family.”

“That’s fine,” grinned Pacifica, blushing at the implication that she one day would share the name of the Pines. “I’m sure my parents are still hungover, and their gifts are always… impersonal. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“Me too,” replied Dipper as he finally removed the paper and opened the box, his brow furrowing in confusion as he pulled out a smaller box. He turned it over in his hand, inspecting it—it appeared to be made of a hard black plastic. Running his fingers across the hinge, Dipper opened the second box—and remained confused.

It appeared to be a small panel of glass, bordered by the abalone gleam of alien metal. A thin film covered the black glass, giving it a lustrous sheen. As he turned it over, he saw several thin indentations on the back with miniscule grips.

Holding onto them in turn, he extracted a miniature antenna, and a decently sized keypad.

“What is this?” he asked, looking up at Ford—he was the only one capable of making something like this.

“That,” smiled Ford, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a similar device, “is the Weslee Mark II.”

“No way!” exclaimed Dipper enthusiastically. “It’s so much smaller! Can it do the same things as before?”

“More!” Ford replied, sharing his nephew’s excitement. “I had been working on the tech to upgrade the Weslees for a while, but couldn’t quite get it to work. When you mentioned how you were unable to call us from inside Crash Site Omega, however, it all clicked into place!

“Using the alien metal, I was able to fix the communication issues—you don’t even need to be able to see the sky to place a call! The antennae are able to pick up on electromagnetic bands that not even the government uses for communication. It’s got wireless charging, and is even harder to break than before. Plus, there’s a touchscreen! All you’ve got to do to wake it up is tap twice.”

Astonished, Dipper quickly tapped on the screen—a basic but clean user interface popped up, prompting him to go through the process of setting up his password.

“Thanks, Grunkle Ford,” smiled Dipper, setting the phone to the side. Pacifica could see how much he wanted to play with it, but he was making the choice to spend Christmas morning with them. “But… where’d you get the materials for it? You haven’t been to Omega since we’ve been here.”

“I used the wires you brought me,” answered Ford, interlacing his fingers. “After the teleportation engine vanished, it didn’t make much sense to just leave them laying around. There was enough material there to make two of the devices. Once I get my hands on more metal, I’ll be able to replicate them for McGucket. And anyone else who wants one, I suppose.”

“Well, I’m glad that those wires were useful for something,” smirked Pacifica.

“Speaking of material,” began Mabel, reaching into her box and pulling out a thick bundle of yarn. As soon as she touched it, her eyes grew wide. Quickly, she started to run her fingers across it. “What is this? It’s so soft!”

“We found that on an island in the South Atlantic,” chuckled Stan. “Apparently, they make it from the wool of lambs less than three months old. Then, they wash it with butter and spring water before letting it dry in the sun.”

“I’m going to be able to make the best sweater ever with this,” Mabel announced, tucking the yarn back into the box, where it would stay safe until she was able to use it. “Thanks Grunkle Stan!”

“No problem kid,” he said, polishing off his final bite of French toast. “I had to break into their workshop to get it, so I hope it’s worth it.”

Dipper and Pacifica looked at each other as Soos and Melody did the same, unsure of whether or not Stan was joking. The fact that Ford was shaking his head, however, meant that he probably wasn’t.

“What next?” asked Mabel, both to herself and to the room as she scanned the pile beneath the tree.

“You ought to open those two together,” commented Melody, pointing at a box that had an envelope taped to it. The box, wrapped in golden paper with a green ribbon, was addressed to Dipper, while the purple envelope bore Mabel’s name.

Mabel, following Melody’s recommendation, tore off the envelope and passed the box to Dipper. She immediately started to rip the envelope open before she was stopped.

“Not yet, Mabel,” Melody chastised. “Let Dipper go first.” Mabel put down the halfway open envelope in disappointment, but soon refocused her attention to Dipper, watching eagerly as he started to inspect the package.

Dipper shook the small box vigorously, hearing something rattling around inside it. Knowing that Mabel would chastise him if he tried to pick apart the paper, he tore away the ribbon and quickly opened the lid. Tilting the box over, his eyes went wide in astonishment as Soos’s keys tumbled into his hand.

“Soos?” asked Dipper, thrilled and befuddled. “What are these?”

“They’re my keys, dawg,” smiled Soos, winking. “I figured that since, uh, Francine was out of commission, you could have my ride.” Dipper still loved Francine, but he couldn’t deny that Soos’s truck held a certain magic—it reminded him of the distant days of summers past.

“But it’s your truck,” said Dipper, extending the keys back out to Soos. “I can’t take it. You need it for around here.”

“Not anymore, I don’t,” Soos commented, a smile on his face. Ford, Stan, and Wendy all looked at him in confusion. “I’m getting a bigger truck!” Soos winced as Melody pinched him.

“Now it’s your turn, Mabel,” smiled Melody, rubbing her hands together nervously.

Mabel immediately tore off what remained of the envelope’s top, sliding out a blank white card, bordered with gold trim. She looked around it in confusion, seeing no writing.

The moment she opened it, however, she dropped the card and let out an earsplitting shriek of elation and excitement that caused everyone, excepting Soos and Melody, to cover their ears.

“Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh,” Mabel gushed, unable to contain her excitement. “When? When?”

"Late June," announced Melody, grabbing Soos's hand.

“Mabel, sweetie,” began Stan, removing his hands from his ears and throwing them into the air. “What’s going on?”

“They’re having a baby!” squealed Mabel, burying her face in her sweater before screaming again—this time, the sound was dampened.

Everyone’s jaws dropped open as Dipper’s hand flashed over to the fallen card. He flipped it open, showing it to Pacifica. Inside was a photograph of an ultrasound, clearly labeled. Dipper and Pacifica looked at each other, smiles breaking out across their faces as they passed the card up to Stan.

“It’s not twins, is it?” asked Stan as he held the card up to eyes, squinting through his glasses. He seemed much less impressed. “I hear those can be annoying,” he continued, breaking into a chuckling smile as Ford reached over and lightly punched him in the arm.

“No, no,” Melody smiled, holding Soos’s hand. “Just the one.” She had tears brimming in her eyes, overwhelmed by how enthusiastic and welcoming Mabel, and the rest of the room, had been to the news.

“Woah, dude,” said Wendy, looking at the image with a mixture of disgust and fascination. She was much younger than Melody, and the concept of having kids was still frightful for her. “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

“Not yet,” said Soos enthusiastically. “And we’re still not sure that we want to know! May keep it a surprise.”

“Oh, I couldn’t handle that,” chuckled Dipper as Pacifica reached out to gently rub his back. “I’d have to know.”

“I think so too,” Pacifica smiled. “After all, picking a name is such an important decision. You need time to make lists and think about.” Dipper looked back at her—the soft warmth of understanding and appreciation in his chocolate eyes.

“Have you decided on names yet?” asked Mabel, standing up and rushing over to the table to get another look at the ultrasound. “We can name her Gladys if it’s a girl, and Tyrone if he’s a boy!” Dipper rolled his eyes at her suggestions—she had stolen his favorite name.

“Not yet,” said Melody, patting Mabel on the hands. “We’ll take your ideas under consideration.”

“But what about, but what about—“ Mabel stammered, overflowing with emotion and unable to formulate her questions sensibly.

“Breathe into your sweater, Mabel,” instructed Dipper as his sister started to hyperventilate. She quickly buried her face into the cloth and started inhaling rapidly.

“Good job, Soos,” joked Stan, causing both Soos and Melody to blush. “I had my doubts,” he smirked.

“Stanley!” shouted Ford accusingly, turning to his brother and shaking his head in disappointment.

“What?” asked Stan, throwing his arms in the air. “I thought it was a good thing to share your honest thoughts!”

“The first thing we’re going to do once we get back on the water is sail to Paris and get you some etiquette lessons,” sighed Ford, shaking his head.

“Paris is overrated,” chuckled Pacifica, turning to look at Dipper. He held Soos’s keys in his hands thoughtfully.

“Soos,” he started, extending the keys back to the soon-to-be father. “I still can’t take your truck. I know you’re going to need to get a new one for the extra space, but it’s just too much for a gift.”

“How about a trade?” said Soos, snapping his fingers as he had the spark of an idea. “You can take the truck, and you can get me… a bag of Corncornos!”

Dipper drew the keys back towards himself, looking at them thoughtfully. For some reason, even though it was a lopsided trade, it seemed more palatable than simple taking the truck as a gift. Melody nodded at him, showing that she had approved the deal. Dipper cast his eyes back to Pacifica, looking for her opinion on the matter.

“I’d take it,” said Pacifica, smiling. “My Northwest business sense is telling me that it’s a pretty good deal.”

“Alright,” announced Dipper, turning back towards Soos. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Yes!” shouted Soos, pumping his fist in the air, as though he had come out on top.

“Soos, it’s amazing that you’ve ever managed to turn a profit,” scoffed Stan, shaking his head.

“You can thank Melody for that,” smiled Soos, pointing to his wife. “She’s the one who tells me I can’t buy video games all the time.”

“Okay,” said Mabel, emerging from the confines of her sweater with a look of increased calm on her face. “I think I’m good now.”

“Great,” laughed Stan, reaching over to gently muss her hair. “I was about to get Dr. Louis to make a house call.”

At that moment, everyone froze as they heard a knock resound from the front door. They looked at each other in panic, fumbling for their weapons—it took them a moment to realize that they had put them all away. Whoever was at the door wasn’t the shapeshifter—it was just who it appeared to be.

Still, no one moved to answer the door. Pacifica gave Dipper a gentle nudge, impelling him to swallow and stand up. He shook his hands as he walked to the entrance—the impulse to be holding a weapon was difficult to overcome.

All of the locks were still in place from last night, leaving Dipper fumbling as he went through the lengthy process of undoing them. Finally, taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

“Sam!” he immediately shouted upon seeing who stood on the other side of the door. Relief flooded his body—he hadn’t expected to see the blonde boy here, but it was a pleasant surprise.

“Dipper!” Sam responded, equally enthusiastic. His breathing was heavy. “I’m so glad you’re okay! Where’s Pacifica?”

“I’m here too!” Pacifica echoed, bouncing to her feet and walking to the door. “Why are you here?”

“I was watching the news this morning,” Sam started, trying to calm his breathing. “And they showed this picture of a wrecked truck with a bunch of trails leading away from it. I recognized it as Francine, and wanted to make sure that you were okay.”

“We’re fine now,” replied Pacifica, leaning forward and wrapping her arms around Dipper’s waist, her head emerging from behind his back. “There was an accident, but we made it back okay. Would you like to come in?” she asked. “I think we’re all out of French toast, though.”

“I already had breakfast,” Sam answered, waving his hand dismissively. “But I would love to come in.”

Sam stepped inside tentatively, his eyes scanning the building as he did so—he had never been in a place like this.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to come out here,” he said, shaking his head as he spoke back to Dipper and Pacifica. “I remembered that you had talked about going to a Shack, but it took me a long time to find the address on the website. There were too many laser effects.”

“I wonder whose fault that is,” mumbled Pacifica in friendly jest, casting a pointed glance at Soos. He pulled his fez down over his ears in embarrassment.

“Yeah, but then I had to convince the driver to let me borrow his car,” continued Sam. “Took a pretty big bribe. There were a lot of things that slowed me down.”

“You’re here now, though,” said Dipper, clasping Sam on the back. After having immediately broken into conflict the night before, he was trying to make up for the bad first impression. “Which means I can introduce you to all of my people.”

“You’ve got a lot of people,” commented Sam, stepping into the living room and looking at the crowded table. “Hey Dr. Ford,” he said, extending his hand in a wave. Ford waved back, the only other one who recognized Sam.

“Everyone,” began Pacifica, stepping forward. “This is Samuel Southeast. He’s been a good friend of mine for a long time, and he was at our party last night. If you need any investment advice, he’s your guy.” Sam broke out into a smile at how Pacifica had introduced him.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” he said, nodding as he looked around the room. Soos and Melody had welcoming expressions, while Stan and Wendy stared at him more forcefully. It had taken a lot for Pacifica to redeem herself, and despite Dipper’s easy company with the blonde boy, they weren’t yet convinced of his good intentions.

Sam opened his mouth to speak again, but then something moved in the corner of his eye. Waddles, stretching, had stood up from Mabel’s mattress and walked out onto the floor, peeking his head around the arm of Stan’s chair to look at the new arrival.

“Oh. My. Gosh,” began Sam, immediately squatting down to Waddles’s level and extending a hand. “You guys have a pet pig?” he asked as Waddles sniffed him, soon pushing forwards and happily oinking as Sam scratched his ears. “That is so cool!”

“Well, technically it’s not _our_ pig,” laughed Stan. “It belongs to my niece over there.”

“HI MY NAME’S MABEL!” Mabel shouted, instantly leaping to her feet and bounding across the room to sit next to Waddles, joining Sam in scratching him.

Dipper drew back in surprise—he hadn’t seen Mabel react to a guy like that for over three years—Gabe had been the last one. She had had crushes in the meantime, but they were generally fleeting and less passionate.

What surprised him more, however, was that Sam didn’t immediately flinch.

“Hi,” he began, looking up into her eyes. “My name’s Sam. Though, I guess if you heard Pacifica, you already know that,” he laughed. Mabel laughed in response, too loudly and too long.

Everyone at the living room table turned and looked at each other, rolling their eyes as the two teenagers sat down on the floor with Waddles between them. If Mabel had suddenly lost her interest in opening presents and transferred it to Sam, it was going to be a while before she shifted her attention again.

They stood up, almost in unison, and spread out throughout the Shack—Melody began the process of carrying dishes into the kitchen, with Stan helping her. He wouldn’t do any of the actual washing, of course, but he would assist with everything else. They smiled at each other as they worked—despite Stan’s comments about the baby, Melody knew that he cared immensely.

Ford walked into the gift shop and, smiling at Dipper from across the room, began the process of reattaching the vending machine to the wall. There was a lot of restoration work to be done in the lab, and he would soon need Dipper’s help. Today, however, was Christmas. Only the absolutely essential work would carry on.

Soos and Wendy walked past Dipper and Pacifica out onto the porch, and came back in carrying lumber and a toolbox. There was still more reinforcement to be done before the Shack would truly be secure, and the tarp wasn’t going to keep the weather out for long.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting that,” Dipper whispered into Pacifica’s ear, gesturing to Sam and Mabel. They both seemed to be increasingly relaxed—Sam reclining against the lower part of Stan’s chair, and Mabel switching from having her legs folded to the side to being cross-legged. Her laughter, though still too loud, was becoming less forced and more natural.

“It makes some kind of sense,” shrugged Pacifica. “They both really like sea turtles.”

“I don’t know if that’s a solid foundation for a relationship,” replied Dipper, cocking his head to the side.

“The sea turtles don’t have to be all of it,” Pacifica smiled. “It looks like Waddles is going to be more than enough.”

“Come on people!” said Wendy, walking back by the couple, who stood at the bottom of the stairs. “Move it or lose it! This is an active construction zone.”

“She’s right,” said Dipper, reaching down and taking Pacifica’s hand, pulling her out of the redhead’s way as she carried in more boards. “Let’s head back upstairs. There’s something I want to give you.”

“But what if we miss the rest of the presents?” whined Pacifica, though the glimmer in her eyes revealed that she was joking.

“I’m sure that Mabel will come and get us,” Dipper replied, Pacifica stepping up the stairs behind him. “She did this morning, and we weren’t even wearing clothes.”

Pacifica shook her head as she followed Dipper to the attic, once again ducking beneath the fallen timber in the hallway. It seemed colder than it had been before, more air seeping in from the edges of the tarp. Once they closed the bedroom door behind them, however, the temperature seemed to immediately spike.

Dipper led Pacifica over to his bed, sitting her down on it gently as he started to rummage through his bag. Soon, he emerged with a brown paper package—the one he had brought all the way from Piedmont.

Looking back up at Pacifica, he passed it to her with a grin as he stood up quickly, only to plop down on the bed beside her.

“What is this?” she asked, her fingers teasing at the white twine. It was almost a perfect bow—it had clearly taken a lot of effort to tie.

“Open it and find out,” replied Dipper with a smile. Pacifica shook her head, having known that he was going to say something like that.

Gently pulling at the bow, it unraveled easily—the paper opened up around the object like the bloom of a flower seeking the sun. Pacifica’s gasped lightly as she wrapped her fingers around the present.

It was a thick leather journal, colored purple, with the roman numeral ‘I’ emblazoned on the front in a rich black font. Around the number was the golden silhouette of a llama. Gingerly, Pacifica turned the book onto its side and cracked the spine, running her fingers over the pristine pages.

The only writing was on the inside cover—an inscription in cursive. Dipper had clearly tried to be as fancy as possible, since it looked nothing like his usual blend of print and chicken scratch.

“ _For Pacifica Northwest_ ,” Pacifica read aloud. “ _May the pages of this journal be filled with as much magic and as many adventures as you have given me. I love you.”_

“Thank you, Dipper,” she said quietly, blinking away tears and turning to envelop him in a hug. As he returned it, she quickly turned her head to kiss him on the neck. “It will probably take a long time to fill it out, but I promise I’ll do it.”

“It’s not about how long it takes,” smiled Dipper, pulling out a fresh box of pencils and pens—a thicker UV light pen clearly sat nestled among them. “It’s about making sure what’s inside is good. And however long it takes… that’s okay.” Pacifica took the new pencil case from Dipper and turned, setting both it and the journal gingerly down on the bed.

“I’ve got something for you too,” she said, getting off of the bed and reaching into her bag, fingers searching for Dipper’s journal. “It’s not much, but it’s something,” she continued, fumbling about amongst her crumpled clothing.

However, she was unable to find it. “Wait…” she mumbled fearfully, becoming increasingly frantic. “Where is it? It was right here. I know it was.”

“What are you looking for, Paz?” asked Dipper, leaning to look over her shoulder.

“Your journal!” she answered worriedly. “I was going to give it back to you, but it’s not here!”

“Oh!” exclaimed Dipper, leaning over to his nightstand and grabbing the journal—it sat exactly where he had placed it after removing it from the shapeshifter’s hands. “It’s right here. The shapeshifter was reading it.”

“Of course it was,” grumbled Pacifica, using her arms to pull herself back onto the bed. “Let me hold it for a second.”

“You don’t have to give it back to me,” said Dipper, passing her the book.

“Of course I do,” Pacifica replied, shaking her head. “Besides, I have my own journal now.”

As she spoke, she picked up her new pencil case and unzipped it. Flipping to the last page of Dipper’s journal, she shined the UV light onto it, making sure that Dipper couldn’t see what she was doing.

She had written this inscription long before Dipper had returned to Gravity Falls, knowing that the journal would one day again be his. She breathed a sigh of relief, grateful to see that the shapeshifter hadn’t damaged it.

 _‘Dipper Pines,’_ she read to herself. ‘ _You’ve shown me more about this valley, about life, and about myself than I ever thought was possible. I can’t wait to find out what we’ll discover next. I love you.’_

She closed the journal, and handed it back to Dipper. There were still a few pages that she hadn’t added information or an illustration to, but Dipper could easily complete the volume. He would discover the inscription in his own time.

“Thank you, Paz,” Dipper said, holding the journal in his hands and savoring both the weight and the smell of it. “I know I said you didn’t have to give it back… but I’m really glad you did.”

“You’re not you without it,” smiled Pacifica, leaning forward and extending a hand to Dipper’s head. Wrapping her fingers into his hair, she pulled his face to hers and kissed him deeply. After a moment, they pulled away, breathing heavily as their foreheads pressed against each other.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” she sighed, gently scratching behind his ear with her free hand.

“And I’m glad you’re safe,” Dipper echoed, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Now, let’s keep it that way.

“That may be harder than it seems,” smiled Pacifica, kissing him again.

“It always is,” Dipper said as he shook his head, causing Pacific to laugh.

She closed her eyes. Later today, she would have to go back to the Northwest Manor and deal with the fallout of her parent’s realizing that their efforts to use Sam to split Dipper and Pacifica apart had failed. If anything, it had made their relationship stronger.

She would be more than willing to deal with that when the time came.

As for now, she was warm and happy, breathing Dipper in deeply and joyously. There were people who had accepted her downstairs, and, for the first time in a long time, she understood what a Christmas morning was supposed to feel like.

“Come on,” said Pacifica, bold and enthusiastic as she stood up and took Dipper by the hand. She left her new journal resting on his bed. “Let’s go rescue Sam before Mabel proposes.”

Dipper smiled as Pacifica pulled him to his feet, gently kissing her on the forehead. He started leading the way downstairs.

“And,” Pacifica grinned, squeezing his hand, “you can show me how to make grilled cheese.”


End file.
